


These Bare Eyes

by terianoen



Series: Of Werewolves [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, How did I do fluff and angst in the same story, Hurt/Comfort, Lucius and Severus are not a side pairing!, M/M, Werewolf Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terianoen/pseuds/terianoen
Summary: Sequel to These Blooming Hearts. With Voldemort gone, not all of Hogwarts problems are solved. After spending the summer getting to know each other, the Ministry is once again reluctant to let well enough alone. Regardless of the fact that Severus finds himself distraught by Lucius' simple question, Harry confused by Draco's affectionate behavior, and Draco left with the impossible task of trying to figure out how to be a werewolf and a boyfriend at the same time.





	1. To be Asked

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! We're back again. I hope this scratches the itch all of you were wanting for a little more fluff and closer for all of our characters. 
> 
> This will not be very long, only about 10 chapter, maybe 20,000 words at most. However, I am still writing as we go through, so if ever there's something you want to see, don't hesitate to hit me up. 
> 
> That being said, there probably will be more mistakes through here since, I'm posting as I'm writing instead of posting once it's done, so please comment on any mistakes you see! 
> 
> I will only be updating once a week on Mondays.

Harry stared across the entryway of Malfoy Manor, taking in the dried blood smeared across the floor, the dent where Greyback had evidently fallen, the scratches born into the walls. He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t shiver; this wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about his reaction.

Draco’s eyes were hooded, his face pale, sweaty. He looked on the verge of passing out. And Harry wondered for the millionth time what the point of coming here had been.

He could still remember Lucius and Severus’ face when Draco had proposed the idea, looking over his shoulder at Harry for help that he wasn’t about to give. Lucius had been shocked, too shocked to say anything. Severus had been furious. Too furious to say anything, and they’d just stared at each other for entirely too long before anyone had spoken.

“Absolutely not,” Severus had said finally, sounding as if he thought Draco had lost his mind. Harry still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t.

“I just need to know,” Draco had answered, annoyed and determined, and Draco had said the same words to him, but it still didn’t make sense.

“What could you possibly need to know?” Lucius had asked, and Draco was opening his mouth to respond when Harry had interrupted.

“You know the ministry still isn’t happy with any of us,” he’d said. It had been a little over four months since they’d defeated Voldemort. The summer was just beginning to finish, snow touching the ground as August drew to a close, and the ministry had officially opened its investigation back into Severus and Draco about halfway through the summer. “It’s not a good idea-.”

“Since when have you cared about what’s a good idea and what’s not?” Draco had asked, his voice dangerously close to a snap.

Harry had no idea what the rest of their conversation had been about because he had promptly left after that. More the fool him when he found out that Severus and Lucius were apparently willing to let Draco go off and be an idiot after all.

They’d been cooped up in Hogwarts all summer, neither Draco nor Lucius going back to Malfoy Manor. Every Severus had stayed where usually he would have spent a least a month at his house. Harry didn’t bother to ask why. He hadn’t thought it mattered.

He hadn’t thought it mattered until Draco had insisted that he needed to see Malfoy Manor the week before school was starting up again.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Harry muttered, his eyes still locked onto Draco’s face.

His words seemed to catch Draco’s attention, because he looked away from the wreckage around them, locking his eyes on Harry with a dark kind of silver-grey annoyance that he hadn’t used since before Voldemort had died. Sure, they had argued through the summer, but there had been a strange kind of understanding between them. A need for everything to be alright. Or to at least pretend that it was.

“I needed to know,” Draco answered, his voice just as dark, angry. And Harry felt a savage kind of satisfaction shoot through him.

He hated when Draco looked at him as if he was a problem. He loved how he could get a reaction out of Draco at all. He loved how Draco didn’t feel the need to coddle him. He hated how the anger was what was comfortable to him.

“You already said that,” Harry said.

“Well, you weren’t listening,” Draco snapped, his voice huffing out between them. And he was visibly angry now, his eyes flashing as he faced across from Harry. And it wasn’t that Harry couldn’t tell—it wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was just that he didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand why the past meant so much to Draco. It wasn’t as if he could change what had happened now. All it would do was hurt. It was so much better to let it go. Move on. Forget it.

“Why can’t the past stay in the past?” Harry asked, his breath a soft sigh between them.

Draco sighed back at him, flicking his hair out of his face as he stepped closer to Harry, his hand closing around his wrist, squeezing gently.

“The past can still hurt you, even if you don’t want to acknowledge it,” he said. Harry just shook his head. He wanted to twist his hand around Draco’s, to wrap his fingers around Draco’s and tug him close, to hug Draco and run his hands along his back until that look of pain and apprehension was out of his silver-grey eyes.

But he didn’t know how. It had always been Draco who made the first move. It had always been Draco who encouraged. As idiotic as he knew it sounded, Harry wasn’t even sure if he was allowed. He knew _Draco _wouldn’t mind, but that didn’t mean he deserved to move and act and pretend as if….

“And what did you learn?” Harry asked.

“That there was nothing I could have done,” Draco whispered, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder, his fingers squeezing his wrist.

“I could have told you that.”

“But I needed the closure,” Draco muttered. “I needed to know.” Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t bother saying anything. He didn’t understand, but him understanding wasn’t the point. The point was their trip had apparently helped Draco, even if it had frustrated Harry to no end.

“Now, let’s get out of here,” Draco said, raising his head and smiling thinly. “Let’s do something fun for once.”

* * *

Severus stared down at the silver ring resting innocently on his desk’s hard wood surface; the Malfoy crest carved seamlessly alone one side. It fit his finger perfectly—just as Lucius had promised when he’d presented it to him, his face stoic and hopeful all at once.

And Severus hadn’t had the heart to do anything but nod as he’d placed the ring on the desk. He’d been able tell Lucius was disappointed that he hadn’t put the ring on immediately, but he hadn’t said anything.

Which, it wasn’t that Severus wasn’t grateful for Lucius’…._ gift_. He just didn’t understand the need for it. They were happy, weren’t they? Severus was still headmaster, and yes, the Minister was still hanging over his head, but it was hardly as if _this _was going to fix that. And Lucius was still teaching potions, having become a better head of Slytherin house than Severus had ever been.

They were doing fine. Good. They were doing better than good. Sleeping together on a regular basis. They’d even gone on a real date that had ended entirely too domestic and fluffy with Severus wrapped around Lucius and both of them completely naked. In which no one but themselves ever need know the details.

Severus hardly saw the point in bringing _marriage _into the equation.

“Are you even listening to me, Snape?” Scrimgeour snapped. He was sitting in the chair across from Severus, scowling as if he had any right to sit there and demand Severus’ attention for an unwarranted amount of time every week where he said the same things over and over.

Severus curled his lip, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the Minister. They still wanted him gone, even after he’d been a part of defeating Voldemort. There had been a brief negotiation period where they’d been insufferably polite, but it had boiled down in the end to them not wanting the next generation of Hogwarts students to be taught by former Death Eaters.

Honestly, Severus would have been fine stepping down, stepping away. It had been Lucius who refused. And then the Ministry had gotten Draco and his new status as a werewolf involved, and there had been little else to do, but not so politely tell them he was staying where he was.

They hadn’t much liked his answer.

“I’m listening,” Severus said, and the Minister’s frown grew. He didn’t much need this today. What with Harry and Draco out seeing Malfoy Manor and Lucius’ proposal hanging over his head. He didn’t need a visit from the Minister as well.

“Hogwarts is running as well as it always is,” Severus answered, not bothering to take his eyes off the ring. “There’s really not much more to discuss.”

“I disagree,” Scrimgeour answered. “You have yet to give me a satisfactory answer about either Lucius or Draco Malfoy.”

“I _have_ answered you, Minister,” Severus said. “You just won’t accept it.”

“Fine,” Scrimgeour stood abruptly, his face a hard line. “You leave me no choice but to take certain precautions.”

“Really?” Severus answered, but the Minister just stared back at him, hard and impassive. Severus didn’t bother to stand as Scrimgeour went back through the Floo, his face set. He’d known this was coming. It had really only been a matter of time before the Minister had decided to take action against him.

He glared down at the ring still sparkling against the wood, his hand clenched hard on the edge of his desk. Hopefully, he’d be able to fight whatever Scrimgeour put against him. It wasn’t as if the Wizangamot was particularly eager to convict one of the people who had defeated Voldemort anyway.

Severus sighed at the knock on his door. Three soft raps with a single knuckle. Lucius.

“Come in,” he called back. Lucius knew Scrimgeour was coming today. He’d probably been waiting for him to leave. He’d probably been waiting for the right moment to swoop in and check if Severus was wearing his ring now.

Severus could still remember the way Lucius had hovered next to him, his hand closing around Severus’ as he’d spoken softly, his voice low and gentle. Severus had looked up at him, Lucius’ tone giving away his seriousness.

“I know we haven’t been together officially for very long,” Lucius had said, and his eyes had shone, silver and bright and careful, his long hair falling down his back in a braid as he stood by Severus’ chair. “But I think it’s time we were married.” And he’d held out the ring, silver and emblazoned with the Malfoy crest as if it was something horribly precious and not… a ring with too many oaths that Severus would have to swear to keep.

Severus stared down at the ring for another second before shifting his gaze back up to Lucius. He stood in the doorway now, his eyes silver and dark with something close to disappointment as he stared at the ring still resting on Severus’ desk.

“It went badly?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Severus answered as Lucius took the seat opposite him.

When Lucius had asked him, he had been nodding before he really knew what he was agreeing to. Because really, what was the point? There were no parents to force the issue, no people to impress with a big political marriage, no children they needed to have to keep the Malfoy line intact. There was no _reason_ to be married—to change the good thing they already had.

Or at least, there was no reason that Severus could see.

And Severus _would_ have seen it, because if he hadn’t that would mean Lucius wanted him for something other than… _him. _

So, the simple truth was that there was no reason to be married. Lucius obviously just hadn’t thought it through. He was simply bound to change his mind before Severus even had to say another word about the arrangement.

* * *

Harry stared hard at the back of Draco’s head, watching as he looked from one shop to another, point at the window of the broom-shop before turning back to Harry with that half smirk of his that suggested he had _something _to say about the broom that was displayed.

Draco was clutching Harry’s hand in his, his fingers intertwined tightly against the coolness of the August weather. He kept looking back, asking what Harry wanted to do, asking if he was alright with something Draco obviously wanted, tugging him along by his hand as if he had no intention of letting go.

And Harry had no idea what Draco was _doing. _Sure, they held hands. They’d progressively started holding hands more often, touching more often, touching as much as Harry could stand, touching so much that sometimes he would have to glare at Draco’s thigh that wouldn’t stop brushing against his until Draco would get the message and move it—leaving Harry embarrassed and annoyed and guilty all at once. But he’d just needed a minute to breathe.

And it wasn’t that Draco didn’t listen to him on a daily basis, but he’d never bothered to make a point to ask him every five minutes what he wanted. Honestly, it was beginning to grate on Harry’s nerves. If Harry didn’t like what they were doing, he would let Draco know. Just like he’d always done.

“Harry,” Draco sighed suddenly, stopping off to the side of the walkway. A Witch gave them a strange look as she passed, but thankfully just kept walking. Draco finally let go of his hand; Harry’s glove feeling cold and compressed without the added weight and pressure. And he was fine with it. Draco turned to face him, his hands fiddling with the scarf wrapped around Harry’s neck—as if there was anything wrong with it. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Harry scowled at him, stepping away from Draco’s hands.

“Is this really so horrible?” Draco asked.

“I-,” Harry turned his head away, feeling confused and pressured and stuck. “I just don’t know what we’re doing.”

“We’re going on a date,” Draco answered, sounding appalled. As if the answer was obvious. And honestly, Harry couldn’t help responding in kind.

“We’ve _been_ on dates,” he said, his voice a cold hiss between them. “They’ve never been like this.”

“Making out on a couch doesn’t count as a date,” Draco answered, his voice sharp, annoyed. Harry just sighed at him. Why did it matter? Why did they have to go around clutching at each other and pretending Harry was some normal-

“Look, Harry,” Draco said, his hands wrapping around Harry’s shoulders. He held him at a distance, just that side of too much. Draco had gotten so good at knowing Harry’s limits. At catering to Harry’s moods, and Harry couldn’t even figure out the one thing for him.

No, he had made them stop in the middle of the street while Draco talked him down.

“I know you’re probably thinking this is stupid or something, but it’s not,” Draco said, his eyes silver-grey and intense, and Harry could only stare back at him. “I think this is important.”

“Fine,” he sighed, the defeat feeling heavy on his tongue as he let Draco smile down on at him. Because honestly, for all the things Draco did for him, he should be able to do one thing for Draco, shouldn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this go a little angsty, but the next chapter is pretty fluffly, and honestly, this /is/ me we're talking about. There must be angst as some point so...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Don't hesitate to comment!


	2. To Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry continue with their date while Lucius talks to Severus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smuttiness

Draco stared as Harry sipped his coffee, fingers wrapped tight around the Styrofoam cup as if he looked out the window. He couldn’t understand why Harry was so resistant to the idea of going on a date. Why he had looked at Draco like he was crazy when he’d paid for both of their drinks. Still, at least he didn’t pull away when Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry’s, squeezing gently across the table.

“I didn’t know you liked cinnamon,” Draco said, nodding down to Harry’s drink. He frowned, turning to look at Draco with those green eyes of his.

“I just ordered,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

“What do you mean, you just ordered?”

“Believe it or not, but I’ve not had much occasion to run around ordering sweats,” Harry answered, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling and holding them there—as if Draco was the one being completely absurd.

“So, you’ve never just eaten a bunch of candy just cause?”

“No. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed, and with Severus, it just… never came up.”

“Alright, come on,” Draco said, standing. He pulled Harry by his hand, waiting until he stood, that tilted head frown of confusion on his face as he stared at Draco as if he was crazy.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“We’re getting candy,” Draco said, pulling Harry after him as they left the store; their coffees left on the table. Honeydukes was right across the street from the coffee shop, the snow already starting to fall heavier around them. It was late afternoon by then, and Draco knew they’d have to start heading back soon—before Severus and Lucius panicked. Still, they had time.

He pushed open the doors to Honeydukes, Harry in front of him so he could get the full picture the store presented. And Harry blinked sharply at the rows upon rows of candy, turning his head before tilting it up and back toward Draco, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t need-,” Harry started.

“It’s not about what you need,” Draco answered, moving them further into the store.

“But-.”

“We’re not leaving until you pick at least ten things you want to try,” Draco insisted. Harry continued to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind for another second before turning back toward the store with a put upon expression. As if shopping for candy was a chore he never thought he'd be doing.

* * *

Lucius watched as Draco and Harry apparated back with the sun rising behind them. He kept himself from frowning over at them; there was no possible way that visiting Malfoy Manor had taken all day. Unless they’d-

He shook his head, focusing back on Harry and Draco as they approached. He was no about to think about what Harry and his son could have been doing in that big house. Alone and unsupervised.

“Where were you?” he asked, and Draco froze in his tracks, eyes wide. Lucius doesn’t miss the way he almost inched his way to hide behind Harry—as if Lucius wouldn’t just chew the both of them out.

“Buying candy,” Harry told him. Completely unrepentant. The brat. So obviously raised by Severus. Lucius _would _have pinched the bridge of his nose if he didn’t _know _it would have given Harry the satisfaction of feeling like he’d won.

“Get inside,” he snapped, watching with some satisfaction as Draco ducked his head and scrambled passed. At least, he still had _some _parental authority, even if Harry just smirked at him, having to be pulled along by Draco as if he would have stayed out all night just to spite being ordered around. “And don’t think about doing something like that again!” he called after them.

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose once they disappeared inside the oak doors of the front hall. Honestly, he had no idea how Severus had ever managed to get the brat to do anything. It was as if he had a natural inclination to misbehave. He glanced up the steps, smiling slightly as he saw a light that had to be Draco and Harry pass by one of the windows.

It didn’t take him long to reach his private room after that, the night air cold around him as his portrait swung open. Severus was perched in front of the fire, a pile of parchment in his lap. A quill in his hand, hovering in the air with one drop splashing across the already ink covered page in front of him.

“Severus?” Lucius said, sitting across from him as Severus blinked, startling out of whatever he’d been thinking of.

“Harry and Draco back?” Severus asked, setting his quill down in the inkwell on the side table.

“Finally,” Lucius sighed. And it wasn’t hard to notice that Severus still wasn’t wearing his ring; it was still probably sitting on the desk in the headmaster’s office—untouched. As if he hadn’t said yes to Lucius. “They stopped by Honeydukes on the way, I think.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing there’s no Dark Lord hunting them anymore,” Severus rolled his eyes.

“Doesn’t mean it’s safe,” Lucius answered. “Still plenty of Death Eaters and the Ministry.”

“Hmm,” Severus said, and he was staring into the fire again, that unreadable look in his dark eyes. That look that Lucius had thought they’d gotten rid of after Voldemort had died. But ever since he’d proposed, it was like Severus had frozen.

It wasn’t that anything was _wrong. _It wasn’t that Severus was even pushing him away or not talking to him or anything the like. It was just that there was obviously something Severus hadn’t liked about his proposal.

“Severus,” Lucius said as he crossed the room. Severus looked up at him, his hair greasy and thin as it rested across his face, and Lucius perched on the arm of his chair, pulling the parchment from Severus’ lap as he did. He leaned down, the braid falling across his shoulder as he pressed his lips against Severus’. Once, twice, three times.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he muttered against Severus’ lips. “It makes you look unattractive.”

And there was no mistaking the half smile against his lips as Severus reached for him, Severus’ hands pressing against thighs, against his back as Severus pulled him flush, aligning their bodies easily. Lucius tucked his head against the crook of Severus neck, breaking the kiss, his hands moving to unbutton Severus’ robes.

Lucius gasped as Severus’ nails raked across his sternum as he undid the buttons, and the next second, his own robes were being shoved off his shoulders, Severus’ mouth following the line of his neck. Severus pushed him back, Lucius’ arms tight around him as he was laid across the floor. Severus robes were already half undone as he yanked them and his undershirt over his head, leaving him in only his pants over Lucius.

And Lucius couldn’t help reaching out for him, laying his palm against the flat of Severus’ stomach, running it up before resting just next to his nipple. Lucius loved the way Severus bit his lip when he pinched it, when he twisted it in his hand. He loved the way Severus was suddenly bent over his again, their teeth clashing together, dark hair hanging over his face, dark eyes alight with passion and fire.

Severus reached down between them, his fingers that were usually so sure fumbling with his pants. And Lucius took the opportunity to drag the rest of his own clothes off, grasping Severus by the shoulders when his pants were still around his ankles and flipping them over until he was the one on top, straddling Severus.

Severus stared up at him, hair fanned out around him as he lay. And they lunged toward each other, mouths colliding, skin sticking together, and they groaned into each other’s mouths as their erections connected. Lucius reached out blindly, his fingers just wrapping around his wand as he cast the lubrication charm.

He reached between them, his finger easing between Severus’ cheeks and pressing against his puckered hole. Severus kicked his left foot once, his pants flying off his foot before he wrapped both legs around Lucius’ hips, and he was pressing down and against his fingers.

In all honestly, Lucius probably went too fast, moving from one finger to two fingers as Severus squirmed under him, his hands yanking Lucius long blonde hair until he could feel it tangling over his shoulder. But it didn’t exactly matter when Severus was shoving down against him, his lips pressed to Lucius’ sternum with a whispered murmur of being ready even though Lucius really _should_ prepare him with at least one more finger.

He pressed into Severus slowly, groaning at the tightness wrapping around him, at the feeling of Severus’ legs clutching at his back, at the feel of Severus’ hands pulling his hair so hard it was starting to hurt. And Merlin, it felt so good. He paused for half a second once he was fully seated, waiting until Severus rocked his hips against him before he pulled out and slammed back in.

They went punishingly fast, hard, thrusting against each other as if they hadn’t done so in a lifetime. It wasn’t true. They’d had sex two days ago. It just felt like a lifetime what with Severus freezing him out. Still, he didn’t bother to slow down as they continued. It had never been their way to speak soft words between gentle caresses.

And when he finished, he clutched at Severus with all he had, and he willed him to understand that it didn’t matter whether Severus was ready to be married or not. As much as Lucius wanted to, as much as he wanted to climb into bed with Severus and know no one could possibly have a claim on either of them, he would still love Severus even if he wasn’t ready for the same.

Even if neither of them knew how to say the words out loud.

* * *

Draco stumbled into Harry’s room, lugging Harry in behind him and trying desperately to stifle his laughter. It shouldn’t have been funny—the way Harry was able to push Lucius’ buttons. The way Harry was able to look Lucius in the eye with that defiant edge in his voice.

But Merlin, when his father had shouted after them, and Draco could just _tell _that he was on the verge of banging his head against _something_, Draco couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

Harry shook his head, staring at Draco as if he’d lost his mind, dark hair falling over his glasses. He was still holding the Honeydukes bag as the portrait swung shut behind him. And Draco couldn’t help but laugh again at the memory of the way Lucius had stared when Harry had told him they were late because they’d been buying candy.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked finally, and he sounded genuinely concerned. Draco nodded slowly, stepping forward to put hands on his shoulders, his nose an inch from Harry’s.

“I just love you,” he said.

“And that’s funny?” Harry answered, sounding skeptical.

“Not in the slightest,” Draco smiled, kissing Harry lightly, slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. Then he took the bag out of Harry’s hands and moved to the couch near the fire. “Now let’s try some candy.”

It had been a struggle to get Harry to pick ten pieces of candy. He’d had to suggest something more than once, and they’d been there for more than an hour, when Harry had finally looked at him—only four pieces in his bag—his green eyes wide and uncertain, and Draco had taken pity on him. He’d asked what flavors Harry liked, what textures, leading him around the store based on his answer. It had still been painful, but it had been good—for both of them.

It was eye-opening for Draco. Saddening. He’d known. Sure, he’d known Harry didn’t think about himself the way everyone else did, but he’d never thought that Harry didn’t actually know how to walk through a store and look at something and think of what he wanted. It made Draco sick, deep in his stomach, that no one had ever taught Harry to think of himself—that Harry thought there was nothing wrong with having no idea what he liked.

He sat across from Harry, pulling the first sweet out of his bag and presenting it to him. It was a chocolate and caramel square thing that Draco had suggested, and Harry was staring at it like he was afraid it might bite him.

“Come on,” Draco said. “You never know if you don’t try it.”

Harry shifted his eyes from the candy to Draco. Though in all honesty, Draco was much more likely to bite. He did take the candy from him though, putting it into his mouth with a delicacy Draco had hardly seen from him before and chewing slowly before swallowing.

“So?” Draco asked when it was clear Harry wasn’t going to say anything without prompting.

“It’s sweet,” he said.

“It’s supposed to be,” Draco answered, pulling another caramel candy out and putting it in his mouth before offering the box to Harry, who dutifully took another. Well, it must not have been awful then.

it was fascinating the types of candy he liked, and the ones he blatantly spit out. They soon discovered he actually liked the syrupy flavors, leaving Draco wondering how he would feel about something like Treacle Tart or Cheesecake.

They kept at it for a long time. Probably too long if Draco was being honestly. Long enough that he could tell Harry had gotten a sugar high from the candy and was starting to crash. An hours later, found him leaning against Draco, his head resting on Draco’s shoulder, his right hand running up Draco’s thigh, light, teasing, easy.

“We should probably go to bed,” Draco told him, pressing his lips together to keep himself from laughing. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said Harry was _trying _to tickle him, the way he was running his finger up the side of his leg.

“I don’t want to,” Harry answered, and suddenly his hand pressed harder, digging into Draco’s leg until Draco let out a shriek of laughter. He tried to scramble away, but Harry was suddenly _there _half-laying on top of him with his fingers dancing along Draco’s sides as he tickled him.

And Draco couldn’t decide if Harry was never allowed to have sugar again or if he had to have it every day from then on.

“Stop!” Draco shouted; he was almost embarrassed with how high his voice pitched. “Stop! Stop!”

Harry laughed over him one more time—clear and loud and echoing, a sound Draco really had heard enough of—before he leaned back, laying his head against the couch cushions as he stared down at Draco with bright green eyes.

“My stomach is really starting to hurt,” he told Draco, still smiling slightly.

“Yeah,” Draco shrugged. “That happens.”

“Probably why they tell you not to eat so much candy,” Harry answered, and Draco couldn’t help staring at him.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said. He didn’t really know why it surprised him so much. It wasn’t that Harry was never in a good mood, it was just that Harry was never in a good mood like _this, _smiling and laughing and joking and looking at Draco as if he was everything.

“No one’s ever really done something like this for me before,” Harry told him. He leaned down, fitting his body to Draco’s and resting his head on his shoulder, relaxed, easy. “It’s nice.”

“I’m glad,” Draco answered, his hand automatically raising to run through the hair on the back of Harry’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	3. Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a nightmare that leaves Harry reeling while Lucius finds Hogwarts has an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Wonderful readers. So so sorry for being so late. I know this is kind of short, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

He could feel claws at his throat, the stench of death in his nose while his mother screamed behind him. He saw flashes of the starch whiteness of Malfoy Manor stained with blood as he choked on his own blood, Greyback’s eyes red and full of a madness as he leaned over him.

He stood over his mother’s broken body and felt the anger course through his veins. Hot, vivid, unstoppable, and he couldn’t help but want to race through the forest and destroy Greyback himself. To tear him apart with his hands and his teeth. His father’s hands on his shoulder, cold and calculating and telling him to move, and he was lunging before he knew what he was doing.

Weasley stood in front of him, his wand still out after his latest attack on Harry. And Harry was right at his back, saying something about letting it go, but he couldn’t. Not after the look on Harry’s face. And the protective fury raced through his body as he stalked toward Weasley, fast and eager and ready to rip his throat out as Greyback had tried to do to him.

Harry lay under him, legs sprawled, body eager, eyes wide, and his mind was so clouded with lust that he forgot to be gentle. That he forgot to pause when Harry’s hands gipped his arms tight enough for him to feel the nails. That he forgot to ask if he should continue when Harry cried out, and he was suddenly inside Harry’s heat, and he couldn’t stop himself because of the primal voice inside of him whispering that Harry was his to claim.

“Draco!” Harry’s voice was suddenly loud in his ear, making him wrench upright. The sheets were tangled around his waist, sweat covering his body. Harry was next to him, fully clothed and staring back with dark green eyes as he lay across the covers. And Draco suddenly realized that it had been a dream.

He’d been dreaming. It was only mildly comforting.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, his right hand already reaching out as if to touch him. Draco recoiled before he could stop himself. He could still see Harry under him; he could still feel how he’d been unable to stop himself. From killing, claiming. He didn’t know which scared him more.

“I just need some air,” he answered, standing unsteadily from the bed. He was only wearing pants and a light sleeping shirt, so he moved to where he’d thrown his slacks, reaching down to pull them on. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, though he didn’t move from the bed. And there was half a second where Draco was gripping the handle of their room, Harry‘s voice low and full of warning as he whispered his name, and Draco really thought he’d stop him.

And he might just let him.

But he didn’t.

* * *

The first thing Lucius thought about the new Defense professor was that he was strange. Suspicious. That he wanted something. He had light brown eyes and dark hair that matched the expensive fall of his black robes. He was obviously rich from the way he carried himself to the way his robes were tailored just right around him. In another life, where Severus wasn’t waiting for him in their bedroom, Lucius might have even been attracted to him.

“Professor Malfoy,” he said. He smiled as if he was simultaneously egging Lucius on and trying to charm him, and Lucius immediately wished he could just turn around and walk away. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I imagine you have,” Lucius answered quietly, and he knew he was just on the verge of rude, but really, why this wizard was talking to him in the first place was beyond him. “What with me being a Death Eater and everything.” The wizard’s smile tightened for a fraction of a second, his eyes locked on Lucius’ as if he was about to say something they would both regret. Then he chuckled, and it was almost convincing.

“Right, of course,” he said. “The name’s Justin Adarins. I’m the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“I wasn’t aware the headmaster had hired a new professor yet,” Lucius answered. In fact, he was fairly sure Severus was having the opposite problem. No one wanted the job. And anyone who accepted turned around and changed their mind as soon as they started making arrangements to get settled. Both Severus and Lucius were fairly sure the ministry was involved, but it was impossible to prove.

“He didn’t,” Adarins said, his smile wide and self-satisfied. “The ministry thought it wise to extend its own candidate.”

“Of course,” Lucius answered, narrowing his eyes.

“Well,” Adarins bowed slightly, tipping his head as if he actually had any respect for Lucius. “I only wanted to introduce myself.” And then he was turning away, disappearing around the corner before Lucius could say another word. Not that knew what he would say. Or do.

But he did know they suddenly had a very big problem to deal with.

* * *

“Something’s bothering you,” Severus muttered, not bothering to raise his eyes. Harry didn’t bother to answer. He was sprawled out, his left leg hooked over the chair’s arm, his right tucked against his body. Severus sat across from him; the chessboard set between them.

It had been a long time since they’d played wizard’s chess. Years. Harry had never been good at it. He had never had the patience to sit down and stare at a board and come up with a foolproof strategy. Severus was excellent though. He was impossible to beat. Harry knew it was one of the few things that really bothered Lucius about him.

That the pureblood could never beat him.

“Harry,” Severus muttered, raising his gaze and locking it on Harry. And really, he should have known better than to expect and answer.

“Draco had a nightmare,” Harry said. “Knight to A6.” Severus raised his eyebrows, his gaze flicking down again, though whether it was at Harry’s move or the information he’d been given, Harry had no idea.

“People have nightmares,” he said, studying the board again. Though honestly, only one piece had moved, what could he have possibly needed to look so hard at?

“Whatever,” Harry answered. Because sure, people had nightmares. But then people didn’t flinch away from other people and run away from them. And Harry still couldn’t get that imagine of Draco out of his head, disheveled and looking back at Harry with wide silver-grey eyes as if Harry was the one who had done something wrong.

And yeah, Harry had done plenty wrong in his life. He knew that. He accepted that. But he also thought—He had thought that Draco didn’t care. Or he’d at least accepted it.

“Pawn to F4,” Severus said, his voice low, even, and when Harry looked up, Severus was watching him.

“Pawn to F5,” he snapped back, and Severus sighed at him.

“I think you should talk to someone,” Severus told him.

“I’m talking to you,” he answered.

“No, you’re not,” Severus said. He leaned back in his chair, gaze sharp on his face, and Harry suddenly knew he wasn’t about to like what Severus was going to say. “You avoid my questions, and even when you do say something, I never know what to do with it. I’m sure I hurt you twice as much as help you.”

“So, you’re saying stop bothering you,” Harry answered, and he could already feel the burning in the back of his eyes. The struggle to keep his expression impassive. It used to be so easy to keep anything from hurting him. To keep himself untouchable. And now a few words from the right person, and he was a quivering mess. He just wanted to run away, disappear, brush the embarrassment off as if it wasn’t there. Hurt Severus before Severus hurt him. “Got it.”

“Of course not,” Severus snapped. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course, you can talk to me. But I think you should also talk to someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“I don’t want to talk to someone who knows what they’re doing,” Harry answered. He could still feel the heat burning in his face, the insistent need to run away before Severus said something he _really _didn’t want to hear. Before Harry said something he couldn’t take back.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” Severus answered.

“I’m leaving,” he said, standing abruptly, the edge of his thigh brushing the chess board between them, and the rook that was sitting just on the edge of the board fell. He flinched when it hit the ground, the sound louder than it should have been, and Severus was still just staring at him as if he’d been expecting him to run away from the beginning.

Maybe because Harry wasn’t good at anything else.

“You were going to win anyway,” he said, his voice low and harsh and accusatory. And part of him knew Severus didn’t deserve it. He knew Severus was only trying to help, but the rest of him felt like he’d been punched in the face. Thrown to the wolves. Betrayed.

Like he could just turn to a stranger and moan about all his problems. As if Severus could just expect him to do something so absurd. Because even though Severus had said he could still talk to him, the message had been clear—from the look in his eyes to the way he’d said the words.

Harry tried not to slam the door behind him. He tried. It wasn’t like he wanted to hurt Severus—it was just that it was so much better to lash out at Severus, to be angry and numb than to deal with the bundle of hurt settling under his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments!


	4. Deja Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students arrive for the beginning of school while the new Defense Professor causes trouble.

Harry could hear the train whistle from his perch in the woods, the blaring sound echoing in his sensitive cat ears. The dejavu of it was profound. It hadn't even been a year ago when he'd been in this same spot, listening to the Hogwarts Express arrive. He'd been hiding from Draco, because Draco had been too interesting, too alive, and he could admit now that he'd been scared. Scared because he'd known even than Draco had the power to hurt him.

He still had the power to hurt him. _Was_ hurting him with his silence and his distance. Harry knew he'd done something wrong. There was no other explanation for the way Draco had avoided him the past few days, for the way he could barely look at him. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out what he'd done.

He should have been mad. He would have been mad a year ago. A bone deep anger with yelling and throwing things that would never have let the hurt in. Now, he could barely be pissed. Now he couldn't do anything about the way Draco continued to avoid him, because yes, Harry had done a lot wrong. But he had been starting to think Draco wasn't one of them.

He buried his face under his paws as the train whistle sounded again, closer this time. He could feel his whiskers brushing against bark, hard and textured and uncomfortable. He had been napping before the Hogwarts' Express had woken him up. Recently, the nightmares had come back. They still weren't as bad. Less screaming at least.

But he had woken up once sure that Voldemort was still alive. Another time with the feeling of Vernon inside of him, his chubby hands clutching along his hair. The worst part was that he couldn't go to Severus, couldn't go to Draco. It was a new experience to stay awake, staring at the ceiling with no one's breathing in the room around him to reassure that the nightmare had just been a nightmare. But he didn't know if they would reject him. Didn't know if he could take it. It was one of those things that it was better not to find out.

He'd found that sleeping in the woods in his Animagus form was one of the few places his nightmares were subdued, his animal brain having a hard time processing dreams. Besides, no one had ever looked for him in the woods before. He wasn't sure why they would suddenly start.

He raised his head at the unmistakable swish of the train entering the station. It blew its horn for the final time, and he could hear the breaks clicking into gear. He knew Severus would expect him to at least attend the feast. And if it had been anyone else, he would have skipped anyway, but it was Severus. And well, he couldn't stay in the woods forever.

* * *

Blaise found Luna almost as soon as he stepped onto the train. He wasn't looking for her. That would have been… lame. And he wasn't lame. So what if they'd kept in touch over the summer. He wasn't about to search her out as if he was desperate for her company or something.

As soon as he stepped onto the train, she just happened to be in aisle, her glasses hanging from her hands as she stood staring as him. As if she'd been waiting for him. Which was ridiculous.

He hadn't even been sure he was coming back. He didn't have to. This was his 7th year. Not a requirement. Not something he had to do. And after the fiasco last year, he'd almost left well enough alone.

"Hey, Blaise," Luna said, smiling over at him.

"Hey," he answered, waving at her. And he looked like a total idiot.

"Come sit with us," she said, and somehow, she managed to make it sound not at all like a question. He let her drag him into her car. He knew Draco was already at Hogwarts and honestly, he wasn't too chummy with the rest of the Slytherins. At least, the few that had been Death Eaters were gone, but that didn't make the others any less conceited.

"Hey," Ginny Weasley said as soon as he walked in. She was perched in the seat by the window. Her boyfriend—he thought they were still dating—Dean Thomas next to her with that other Gryffindor boy, Seamus Finnigan, on his other side. Neville Longbottom was in the seat across from them, and Luna quickly set herself down next to him, still twirling her glasses between her fingers.

Blaise almost just walked out. Almost. He figured that was a level of rudeness even he wasn't allowed.

"Yeah," he muttered, sitting next to Luna. "Hey."

The first hour was absurdly long. No one really wanted to talk with Blaise there. Not that he could really blame them. He didn't want to talk with them there. It was Lune who broke the silence, turning to him out of the blue and asking him an obscure question about the magazine she'd been reading as if she hadn't noticed the tension. Except he knew she was too sensitive to not have noticed.

Weasley was quick to join in the conversation, nudging Thomas when he kept staring out the window. And yeah, ok, she really wasn't that bad. Quick witted, funny, smart. He could see what Luna saw in her. But he could also see plain as Weasley's hand wrapped around Thomas' that they were together. And wasn't the oblivious Gryffindor a bitch.

The rest of the ride wasn't so bad. Surprisingly it was Longbottom who took the longest to warm up, though Blaise had the feeling it was because he was actually shy and not because he thought Blaise was evil. The Gryffindors on a whole weren't _that _bad. Not that he wouldn't have preferred to bother Draco, or even Harry—who just because they'd exchanged a few letters over the summer didn't make them friends.

When they got off the train, the horn blowing for the final time over their heads, Draco was waiting for them. He looked the same as he had the last time Blaise had seen him. The same and different. Same silver-grey eyes, blonde hair, sharp features, except he looked older now. More mature.

"Hello," he said when Blaise walked up to him. Luna and her Gryffindors had already disappeared into the crowd behind him, shuffling off toward a carriage so they could get to the feast. It wasn't as if they'd be able to sit together at the feast anyway.

"Where's your paramour?" Blaise asked. Immediately Draco's face darkened. He turned away, moving in the direction of the carriages, and Blaise had no choice but to follow.

"How would I know where Harry is?"

"When do you ever not know where he is?" Blaise answered, and Draco just looked uncomfortable. Which set all the wrong bells ringing. "What did Potter do?"

"What?" Draco hesitated, almost half in front of a carriage, and the Ravenclaw behind him made a huffing sound. Draco glared back before stepping up and in. Blaise followed him up, promptly shutting the door in the Ravenclaw's face.

"You're upset about something," Blaise told him. "So, what did Potter do?"

"He didn't do anything," Draco sighed. "Harry's not… it's not his fault."

"Well, something's wrong."

"Look," Draco answered, his voice terse, annoyed. Eyes shining in that way that used to cow Blaise, used to make him afraid Draco would never talk to him again. Now, he realized suddenly he was just annoyed. "I know it's not your strong suit, but just drop it."

"Alright," he said, raising his eyebrow. Draco just sighed again.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, it was festive, nicely decorated, and Blaise could tell almost right away that Severus had been the one to decorate this year and not Dumbledore. There was an over the top way to how Dumbledore did feasts, from food to decorations. Severus was different. It was homey in the Great Hall, welcoming instead of grandeur.

Draco's entire body shifted as soon as they walked through the doors. Tense and relieved at the same time. It only took a second to realize what he was looking at. Harry was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, his robes crumpled around his shoulders, a single leaf in his hair. He looked over as soon as the doors banged open, his glasses reflected back the candlelight, and Draco looked away just as quick.

Blaise could already feel the dejavu of last year in his bones. How the two of them had fought and fought and fought but apparently been pining the whole time. It made him want to throw up in his mouth. Honestly.

Except this felt different. Scalding. Draco walking across the room with his head bowed as Harry didn't even bother to hide his stare. Blaise didn't know what to do with the way they were acting, and he had the distinct, feeling they didn't either.

* * *

Lucius couldn't help but notice how confident Adarins was as he stood at the front of the staff room, smiling and joking with Sprout. He didn't just stride, he swaggered. Lucius didn't know what the man thought he had up his sleeve, but he must have thought it was convincing.

Severus had disappeared after the feast had ended, probably retreating to his room to do paperwork. Adarins had been quick to swoop in afterward, inviting the professors into the staff room for their own party. And Lucius didn't understand why so many had accepted. Why even McGonagall had shrugged as if she couldn't see through the man's smirk. But Adarins had just turned toward him with a triumphant smile that Lucius didn't understand, and Lucius was following him before he knew what he was doing either.

"I mean," Adarins was saying. "It's not as if Snape knows what he's doing anyway."

"What?" Lucius answered, and Adarins smiled at him as if he'd just agreed.

"No offense or anything, Malfoy. I mean, I know you're sleeping with the man-."

"Engaged," Lucius corrected, his teeth gridded, eyes narrowed.

"Really?" Flitwick asked. "Congratulations."

"Yes, yes," Adarins answered, waving his hand vaguely. That annoying smile still in place. "Congratulation. I mean, aside from the fact that it's just a tad unprofessional to get married to your subordinate. But still, best wishes."

"Professor Adarins," McGonagall frowned at him, her spectacles low on her nose. "It's not as if there's any rule-."

"It's true there's no rule against it, McGonagall," he answered, smiling widely at her. "But isn't it also true that some rules don't need to be said. I mean, common sense. If this was the ministry, we would never stand for such a thing."

"This isn't the ministry," Lucius told him.

"So, our children are worth less care than the criminals and laws the ministry deals with?" Adarins asked, staring at Lucius; the picture of shocked glee.

He realized belatedly that he'd stepped right into Adarins' trap. That he would have to be more careful. Lucius was out of practice in dealing in politics—more so than he realized. But he wasn't about to lose this fight.

"I'm saying that our children are worth being flexible for," Lucius answered, purposely making his voice smooth. Adarins smiled at him, but Lucius could see the way he tightened his jaw, the way he refused to take the bait. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"What do you mean?" Flitwick asked. "Flexible?"

"Well, if you go about teaching and raising children in the same environment and with the same rules as criminals and with the same inflexibility as laws, you invite them to have the same qualities."

"So," McGonagall asked, her lips pressed together, expression stern, eyes gleaming. "You're saying if we raise our children the way the ministry wants us to raise them, they'll grow up to be inflexible and barbaric."

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Lucius answered, his smile thin and sweet and directed right at Adarins. "After all, how can we expect them to learn if we don't give them enough room to."

"It makes sense to me," Sprout said, and Flitwick was already nodding.

"I see your point," Adarins bowed to Lucius stiffly, his lips still curved in a rigid smile. "Still you must admit that Snape does not know what he's doing. Just last year, he almost got the school destroyed, he let a werewolf attend as a student, and he's just now proclaimed that he was never a Death Eater. What are we to believe?"

"I, for one, trusted Dumbledore," McGonagall said, her lips a thin line of annoyance now. "And Dumbledore always trusted Snape." She must have been done with the conversation then, because she was already walking away, Adarins staring after her as if he could somehow undo the damage her words had caused. But he was in a room full of people who had been loyal to Dumbledore, and no two words he was going to rub together was going to change that.

"She's right Professor Adarins," Flitwick muttered. "I admit I might not love the man, but I rather respect him, and I can't find any real fault with how he's been running things."

"I agree there," Sprout said. "You know, he almost died protecting a student in the Black Lake last year. Saw it with my own eyes."

"Right, of course," Adarins muttered, his voice low and cold, and his smile finally gone as he turned away.

* * *

"You're having nightmares again," Severus said. He didn't know why he bothered; it wasn't as if Harry ever answered. Which was exactly why Severus wanted to him to go to a mind healer. To talk to someone. Except that Harry was more stubborn than was good for him.

"Am I?" Harry answered.

"I thought those had stopped," he said, ignoring him. They were sitting in front of the fire in Severus' room, the feast having ended a little over an hour ago. He wasn't sure where Lucius was. Wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"They never stop," Harry muttered, and it's the way he said it that has Severus turning to toward him, not having any idea what to do but knowing he can't just ignore it.

"Harry-."

"What's going on with you and Lucius?" Harry asked, changing the subject as he turned toward him. And Severus knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't let Harry redirect the conversation, but he had never been able to get Harry to talk about things when he didn't want to. He doubted he was about to start.

"Why must something be going on?" he asked, and Harry just rolled his eyes. Severus really should discourage this. He knew Lucius always went complaining about their problems to Harry too, and he was beginning to think Harry knew more about his love life than he did. "There's nothing wrong; there's just something not right."

"You should just tell him if you don't want to get married."

"Yes, very helpful," Severus answered.

"Also, who was that new Defense Professor. Adirons or whatever?"

"I'm not sure," Severus sighed, staring back into the fire. He hated the man; he hated the way he'd marched into his office and just told him that he'd be taking the job. He especially hated how he couldn't say no because he was from the ministry. "I know he's from the ministry. And I know he's trouble."

"Another class to skip then," Harry muttered.

"Potter, you can't just go around skipping classes-."

"They never say anything new-."

"It's your seventh year. They just might," Severus interrupted, his voice biting, and he didn't miss the way Harry's face turned away from him. The recoil.

"I should go," Harry said, stiff, tense. It was the voice of the scared, unsure, twelve-year-old little boy, who had no idea what to do with Severus, no idea how much he could ask. The voice Severus hadn't heard in so long. It was physically painful for him to hear again, for him to realize how much he'd hurt Harry by suggesting the mind healer, even if it needed to be done.

"You can stay here," he answered. It hadn't used to be a question. Even last year, Harry had used to stay in his room almost nightly. He knew Harry didn't like to sleep alone, and he should have known that with Draco acting distant—whatever was wrong with _him, _and honestly when had his life become juggling two teenage boys—Harry was bound to start having trouble sleeping.

"I…" Harry raised his head, his eyes hard and uncertain and hopeful as he stared back. "I'd like that."

It wasn't strange for Harry to sleep in his room. Even if Lucius came in at some point, Severus figured he wouldn't be surprised. It wasn't until Harry slipped under the sheets next to him, his body thin and trembling that Severus realized just how long it had been since he'd had to comfort Harry.

It worried him how far Harry had stepped back just because of Draco. He knew Harry loved Draco. He knew they were mated. But he also knew it just wasn't healthy to be so dependent on someone else. Harry needed to learn how to love himself instead of relying on someone else to do it for him.

"I think you're right," Harry said suddenly, his voice quiet and sudden in the dark.

"About?" he answered.

"I think I should talk to someone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and love!
> 
> Also, Luna and Blaise's relationship is entirely up to you. Let me know if you want them together or just as friends. If you want Ginny and Luna to end up together or no. If you have another person in mind for Blaise. Their fate is in your hands! :)


	5. Helped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco seeks an answer to his problems, Harry talks to a Mind-Healer, and Severus faces a new challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your wonderful comments!  
Right now the consensus seems to be for a little Blaise and Neville action-probably with how little time there is just barely venturing past preslash, but I'd still love to hear what anyone thinks if you haven't said!

Draco was pacing. Back and forth, staring up at the door in front of him as if it would open and just decide for him. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. It was a terrible idea.

He was out of better ideas.

The first day of classes had been terrible. The two classes he’d had with Harry, and Harry wasn’t speaking to him—barely looking at him. Draco couldn’t exactly blame him. When he’d finally had the nerve to show up in their room last night—after three days of sleeping in his own room—well, the private room he still technically had access to but hadn’t slept in the entire summer anyway—he’d found the place empty.

He dreaded to think of where Harry was. Sleeping in the Gryffindor commons, the silencing spell cast around him to keep them from hearing his night terrors. Lurking in the woods, his Animagus curled up in a tree listening to animals pass under him. More than likely he was somewhere secluded in the castle, like the Astronomy Tower, not sleeping, because like Draco, he didn’t know how to sleep alone anymore.

Draco sighed, stopping in the middle of the corridor and staring at his father’s door. He needed to just knock. He needed to just ask. He couldn’t take being afraid much longer. He couldn’t take how he was hurting Harry with his fear much longer.

Besides the fact that the change was next week, and he had no idea what he was going to do if he didn’t get himself under control by then. He couldn’t change without Harry. The one time he’d done that, Lupin had been there, and it had been wild and exciting and dangerous and—

He could still remember waking up and finding blood in his hair. The fear that he’d hurt someone while he’d been out of control. And that was all he needed for his dreams to shoot through his mind again. The pictures of him feral and threatening to anyone who came close. Even Harry.

Especially Harry.

Draco straightened his shoulders and faced his father’s door. He couldn’t keep doing this. He needed to get himself under control, even if it meant going to the person he really didn’t want to. One step toward his father’s door, two, three. He raised his hand to knock and hesitated.

Merlin, what would his father think of him? His father who had never cared for the werewolf side of him to begin with. What was he _doing? _

Too late. The door to his father’s private rooms opened under his hand, and Lucius was suddenly standing in front of him, one eyebrow raised as if he wasn’t in the least surprised to find Draco standing there.

* * *

“So, you’ve experience panic attacks?” the healer—Harry didn’t bother to remember her name—asked him. It seemed like a stupid question to him. Of course, he experienced panic attacks. Why else was he here?

“Doesn’t everyone?” he answered, staring out the window of her office. He had to admit that she had a somewhat decent view. It overlooked the center of St. Mungo’s; the courtyard already filling with leaves and cold.

“More people than you’d think,” She smiled at him, and he could feel the condescension in her eyes.

He hated this. He hated that Severus had suggested it. He hated that he’d agreed. He hated that he needed it.

“And you have nightmares too?” she asked. He didn’t bother to answer. It was in his file. He’d already filled out why he was here. Why he was still bothering to spill his guts to her when she already knew? Was there really a point in pretending he wanted to talk?

It was his first time coming here. He had no idea how Severus had managed to talk St. Mungo’s into fitting him in so fast. Didn’t much care. All he knew was one minute he was in Severus’ office, the next he was being pushed through the Floo and landing in the healer’s office.

“Do you want to tell me what these nightmares are about?” she asked, staring at him. Blatantly waiting for an answer.

He knew if it had been Severus or Draco looking at him like with expectant eyes, only looking to help—he would have avoided the subject. He would have skirted the topic. Yes, they would have been hurt, disappointed. But he wouldn’t have lashed out, not the way he wanted to with her.

But she had been poking and prodding him for almost an hour now, and he could feel the annoyance at the edge of his consciousness. The anger that was always there and always so hard to reach. And he just wanted to burn her, send her tumbling away from him before she could really start to dig into him, before she could ask him something that he would have to answer.

“Not to you,” he muttered, glaring out her window.

“It’s alright to be angry, you know,” she told him, her voice annoyingly steady, calm.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” she asked, and he ignored her. Which was apparently exactly what she’d been expecting because she just kept talking as if she’d never asked a question, which was somehow more infuriating than if he’d just given in and said something, _anything. _

“Emotions are what keep us human,” she said. “They keep us alive.”

“I managed fine before,” he snapped, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. She just raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t seem surprised. He supposed she must have looked at his file before she saw him. She really was just playing dumb at the beginning.

“Disassociation and apathy aren’t living, Harry,” she answered. “They’re being trapped in your own head.”

“It’s better than the alternative,” he muttered; he wasn’t talking to her. Not really. But she answered like he was anyway.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked him, and he raised his head, looking at her raised eyebrow. At the way she was staring at him. And he turned away from her again.

The truth was that he didn’t know the answer. He didn’t like getting hurt. He _hated _it. He had gone without letting himself open to being hurt by others for so long, he felt open, exposed, venerable every time he thought someone was just a little too close.

But he could also remember the horrible coldness of the apathy. The way he’d pretended to be angry, because he’d been incapable of feeling anything else. Of pretending to feel anything else. The way Draco had come and shattered his world into tiny pieces. And it had been terrifying but at least he’d felt alive.

“Harry, I want you to do something for me,” she said. He glared across at her. “I want you to think of 10 things you love and 10 things you hate.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to realize that there’s nothing wrong with caring about things,” she answered, and she said it so seriously. As if it could possibly be true.

* * *

“You want to what?” Lucius answered, and he was trying to sound calm. He truly was, but when his son came to him talking about werewolf problems and asking to talk to enemies that had tried to kill them, it was harder than he cared to admit.

“Father, I need to do this,” Draco answered. He was staring down at the tea in his hands, and he suddenly looked so young. He had bags under his eyes from how he hadn’t been sleeping, his hair a mess, his shoulders pulled into his body. Lucius hated to admit it, but whatever was going on, it was really bothering Draco.

Bothering him in a way that Lucius didn’t understand.

“I don’t understand why you think he can help you,” Lucius sighed, cradling his own tea between his fingers. Focusing on the tea between his hands so as to keep his voice neutral, even, unemotional.

“He said he could… before.”

“Before he was arrested, you mean?” Lucius asked.

“I need answers,” Draco said, raising his head to look up at Lucius. “And I think he might have them.” This time his gaze was determined. He looked like Narcissa when he stared like that, hard steel and resolve. Draco had always been softer than Lucius. Both he and Narcissa had known that from the beginning, but it hadn’t been until recently that Lucius could see the fire that Narcissa had always seen in him.

“Alright,” Lucius answered. He set his tea on the table beside his chair, and reached over, resting his hand on Draco’s forearm. Draco looked up at him with surprise—whatever poker face Lucius had been able to instill in him was now effectively gone after spending so much time with Harry. “You can always ask me, Draco,” he said, and he silently hoped that Draco got his message.

* * *

“What?” Severus asked and as soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Scrimgeour smiled thinly at him, all threat and judgment, as if he didn’t know that what he had just said was complete lie.

“I said, you may have the rest of the staff under you belt, Snape, but Mr. Adarins remains loyal to the Ministry, and he has reported some scandalous activity going on under the roof of Hogwarts.”

“What activity?” Severus answered, forcing his back straight in the Headmaster chair as Scrimgeour paced in front of him. He knew—he _knew—_Scrimgeour couldn’t have anything real on him or he’d already have sent him to Azkaban, or at the very least have thrown him out of Hogwarts. Draco and Lucius with him. “I know of no such activity.”

“I wonder if that makes it better or worse,” Scrimgeour said. “You claim innocence but that just makes you incompetent, Snape.”

“Headmaster Snape, if you don’t mind,” he corrected. The Minister just turned his face away, the sneer already forming on his lips.

“Mr. Adarins has told me that he’s seen Mr. Potter leaving your room in the early mornings. Before curfew.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Potter is in my care,” Severus answered, and he tried to keep the snap out of his voice, especially when the Minister turned back toward him with knowing eyes, cold and triumphant.

“Having a relationship with a student is-.”

“There is no relationship besides the one we’ve had for years,” Severus interrupted. “The one where I’ve raised him.”

“So, you and Potter’s recent activities have nothing to do with your rejecting Malfoy’s advances?” Scrimgeour asked, looking pointedly at Severus finger. Severus shifted. He still had yet to put on Lucius’ ring, but that had nothing to do with Harry, nothing to with his relationship to Harry. As if he—they were…they idea that anyone could suggest that he would take advantage of Harry after everything—

“It has nothing to do with Potter and the young Draco Malfoy’s failing relationship?” Scrimgeour asked, his eyes blazing with triumph.

“This line of questioning is entirely inappropriate,” Severus answered; he could feel the muscles along his back bunch together in frustrated tense as he internally panicked. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to pull himself out of this one. Years of being a spy for the Dark Lord, training his mind for lies and speaking half-truths, and the Minister had caught him in something so foolishly false. “I am not in a romantic relationship with anyone besides Lucius Malfoy.”

“Speaking of Draco Malfoy,” Scrimgeour continued. “I’ve heard quite a few rumors about how out of control he is during a full moon.”

“One shouldn’t listen to rumors,” Severus told him, and he knew the stiffness of his voice wasn’t helping anyone.

“Adarins has told me that the young Malfoy has almost killed Mr. Potter twice on a full moon. He’s ended up with scaring and in the infirmary because of it.”

“That is incorrect,” Severus answered.

“Oh?” Scrimgeour asked, and Severus could tell by his smile that he knew he’d caught him. Severus couldn’t exactly say Draco had only nearly killed him _once_.

“It is.”

“Ah,” Scrimgeour said. “Not to mention the mental damage I’m told he’s done on Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley and Zabini. I hear they were also attacked by him.”

“They had ventured into the Forbidden Forest against the rules,” Severus answered tightly.

“I see,” Scrimgeour said. “Well, I’m sure there’s more that I’m forgetting.”

“I’m sure,” Severus said, but he was already heading toward the Floo, pinching a generous amount of powder as he made to step away.

“So, I’ll be seeing you, Snape,” he said, and Severus didn’t bother to answer before he flicked the Floo powder into the fire and stepped through.

He didn’t move once Scrimgeour was gone, his back so straight against his chair it was beginning to hurt, his hands digging into the wood of his desk. He couldn’t believe he had let this happen. He had known Adarins was a threat, and he had just let him walk around the school without bothering to do anything about it.

He stared across the room, his eyes moving from the fire grate to the entrance to his office. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. He would have to ask Lucius. Again. Lucius, who he had already asked too much of and given nothing in return. He reached down, his fingers closing around the ring sitting on his desk, the Malfoy symbol engraved along the side.

No wonder Lucius wanted something from him when all Severus did was take.

* * *

“Draco,” his father’s voice sounded in the dark around them, his hand closing around Draco’s shoulder. He didn’t bother to ask if Draco was sure, if he wanted to go back. In Lucius’ mind, Malfoy’s didn’t show weakness like that. But the message was there all the same.

“I’m fine, Father,” Draco answered, and Lucius let him go, stepping away from the door in front of them. They’d already talked about whether he should go inside with Draco or not, and Draco had been adamant enough that Lucius had agreed to not to.

He knew his father had pulled a lot of strings to get this to happen. To get a prisoner out of Azkaban if only for a few minutes, if only to talk to a young, confused werewolf. Draco took a breath before he pushed the door open, shutting it firmly behind him.

Lupin was in chains in front of him, his eyes sunken in, bags heavy under his eyes. He looked emaciated, horribly skinny, and Draco couldn’t help the sense of satisfaction that ran through him at sight. After all the manipulation Lupin pulled on him, all the hate he’d directed at Harry, he deserved to suffer.

“Draco,” Lupin asked, his voice a low rasp between them.

“I need to ask you something,” Draco answered. He didn’t bother to say hello. It wasn’t as if this was a social visit. He could have gone his whole life without seeing Lupin again, without hearing his voice.

It was just that he didn’t know who else to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. *sigh* They're all idiot. Well, we should be seeing a little more fluff next chapter as things begin to tie themselves up!   
Also, there will be no chapter next week as it's Thanksgiving week for me and I will be home. To those of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, happy early Thanksgiving, and I'll see you the week after!


	6. When We Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry helps Draco with his transformation; Lucius and Severus have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long break. Hopefully we are back up and running!

“Were you just going to leave without me?” Harry’s voice echoed around the opening of the woods. Draco almost jumped as he turned to face where Harry was leaning against a tree, standing enough in the shadows that Draco hadn’t seen him. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, sneaking off before diner and thinking Harry wouldn’t notice. As if there was anything about him Harry didn’t notice these days.

“I just wanted to get it done,” Draco said, turning to continue heading into the woods. Harry didn’t bother to answer as he followed him.

The woods were quiet, heavy around them. He hated them, hated the freedom he felt from disappearing across the border and fading away from the castle walls. It made him think of Lupin’s words, the way he’d looked at him expectantly, claiming he only wanted to help. As if he wasn’t a liar.

“Draco,” Harry said from behind him, and Draco couldn’t help but turn. Harry had always relaxed in the forest. That invisible weight he carried on his shoulders lifting. He had even stopped frowning at he stared back at Draco, green eyes worried and caring. Draco used to love that he was the only one Harry showed this side of himself to. Now he wasn’t sure he deserved it—after everything he’d done to Harry, everything he wanted to do.

“What?” he asked when Harry didn’t continue, and Harry turned his face away, biting his lip.

“Just… forget it,” he said, brushing past Draco as he continued. And he was so warm, smelling of caramel and damp leaves, and Draco wanted him so badly. Missed him so much.

“Stop denying yourself,” Lupin had told him. He’d had his left hand wrapped around his chains, holding them up as if to take the weight off his wrist.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Draco had answered.

“You’re out of control because you’re denying your nature,” he’d told him, and he’d sounded so sure, so convincing. “Denying who you are.” Draco didn’t know how to do what he said. Didn’t even know if he could trust Lupin.

He stepped into the clearing before he even realized that Harry had stopped. The sun had already set, the sky a dark orange piercing through the trees. Harry was already standing in the center of the clearing, his fists clenched at his side as he faced away from Draco.

“Lucius told me you went to see Lupin,” Harry said, still not turning.

“I…” Draco answered. “He did what?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he’d told Lupin.

“You will if you don’t find your balance,” Lupin had insisted. As if it was that simple.

“Draco-,” Harry started, but Draco interrupted him. He could feel the anger burning through him, Lupin’s words echoing in his mind, the red starting at the edge of his vision, the tightening of his muscles.

“That’s not your business,” Draco said, and Harry turned toward him, eyes flashing.

“But-,” Harry tried again, his voice softer this time, hurt, and that just spiked Draco’s anger even more, turning it around in a feedback loop toward himself and then back toward Harry.

“I can take care of my-.”

“But you don’t have to,” Harry interrupted, his voice quiet, firm, and Draco stopped talking before he knew what he was doing. “You know, Severus had me go to the mind healer. She had me make a list of things I care about,” he said, his eyes casting sideways, biting his lip, and Draco could see his muscles trembling as he forced himself to continue talking. “I might not have it all figured out, but I do know that you’re on my list—that I care about you.” Harry blinked once, hard, his lips tight, face still half turned away. “But I’m starting to feel like it’s not the same for you.”

“Harry-,” Draco started before he had to cut himself off, the moon appearing over the trees, and he could feel the change ripple through him.

* * *

“So, you’re asking for my help?” Lucius asked, standing with his back to Severus’ desk. He had his hand tight around his cane, facing the fire, and he could _feel _Severus’ reluctance.

“Yes,” Severus answered, and Lucius hated the way he said it. He had thought they were passed this. This… mistrust. He had asked Severus to marry him for Merlin’s sake. And even though Severus had said yes, he hadn’t meant it. That much was clear to Lucius now. He just wished he understood why.

“What is this really about?” he asked, turning around. Severus’ face was tense, shadowed. It reminded Lucius of back when they were still serving under Voldemort. Back then Severus knew he had to hide everything he thought, everything he felt.

“I’ve told you,” Severus answered. “The ministry-.”

“No,” Lucius interrupted. “Why are you acting as if we’re…” he tightened his grip on his cane again, his eyes flicking unwillingly down to the silver ring still sitting on the edge of Severus’ desk. He wondered if Severus had even touched it since Lucius had asked to marry him. “I thought you knew I would always help you. You don’t have to ask as if we’re still hardly friends.”

“I doubt you appreciate my consistently asking for your help,” Severus said, his voice tight, eyes set, and Lucius couldn’t decide if he was angry or just trying to be.

“What does that mean?”

“Isn’t that _why_ you’re asking me to marry you?”

“What does my proposal have to do with this?” Lucius answered, stepping forward. He could feel his own anger on the edge of his vision, making it hard to think, hard to listen when Severus was being so ridiculous.

“What doesn’t it have to do with it?” Severus said. “You must want something.”

“Yes,” Lucius answered, and Severus tensed, his hand curling around the edge of his desk. “I want you. I want to be with you. I think I’ve made that very clear.”

“I…” And Severus just stared at him as if he was speaking a different language, his dirty hair falling into his face. And Lucius didn’t understand why it was such a surprise. “That’s all?”

“Why did you think I proposed to you?” he asked, keeping the snap out of his voice through sheer force of will.

“I didn’t know,” Severus answered, turning his face away. “I thought you had to want something. There had to be a reason.”

“There was a reason,” Lucius said, and he felt suddenly so heavy. Bitter. Tired. He should have known. He had thought Severus had understood, and he had no idea what to do now that he knew he didn’t. “I asked you to marry me because I love you, Severus.”

“Lucius-,” Severus started, half standing, his face repentant, intense, but he just held up his hand, turning away.

“We need to deal with the ministry.”

* * *

Whatever Draco was about to say got lost in his transformation. Harry didn’t expect the wave of disappointment that washed through him. He hadn’t been planning on confronting Draco. It hadn’t been his plan, but he also knew it needed to happen. Draco wasn’t talking to him, and he needed to know why before he drove himself insane. A prospect he hadn’t realized scared him until that moment.

He stepped back, watching as Draco curled into himself as he transformed. It was smoother than the first time he’d changed, and though his face contorted with pain, obviously less painful. The first time, he’d screamed and screamed, clawing at himself and now, he was relatively still.

Harry was quick to follow him, tucking his arms in and willing himself to change into his bobcat form. He was on four legs by the time Draco was changed, looking up at his nose. Draco lowered his face a fraction, smelling him with a deep sniff before turning and lumbering off in the opposite direction. Harry followed him, stepping over a leaf as he did. He knew Draco could hear him, knew by the way Draco’s ears twitched back.

The last few changes between them had been like this. Easy, nonthreatening. It was as if Draco’s werewolf form knew they were mates, even if his human form didn’t. Draco trudged away from him, breaking the ring of trees as he headed deeper into the forest. Which was fine, deeper into the forest was good, as long as he didn’t turn toward-

Harry stopped abruptly as Draco veered right, toward the darkest part of the forest. Where they definitely didn’t want to go. Draco immediately looked back at him, his ears perking up as Harry turned and started walking the other direction. There was half a second where he was afraid that Draco wouldn’t follow him, but then there was a low sigh, and Draco was there, his nose at Harry’s flank, soft, affectionate.

And the truth was that he was beginning to miss this warmth when Draco wasn’t a werewolf. When he had to open his eyes and realize that maybe Draco wouldn’t do anything for him.

* * *

“I can’t believe the rumors going around about Harry and Snape,” Ginny said, her fingers tight against her quill.

“It does seem a little absurd that anything is going on between them,” Luna answered. She didn’t bother to look up from her own essay as she continued scribbling down the parchment. They were studying in the library, their books open and spread across the table. The only reason they were here instead of their own dorms was because Ginny had wanted to hang out. Luna had dragged Blaise along once she realized Dean was also going to be there, dreading spending time alone with Ginny and her boyfriend. 

“Honestly,” Blaise said, frowning out the window and hardly bothering with the herbology essay spread in front of him. “Potter barely liked _Malfoy_, and they were dating. I hardly see him having an affair with the headmaster.”

“What do you really know about Potter though?” Dean asked.

“What?” Ginny answered, and Luna didn’t miss the snap in her voice.

“I mean,” Dean said, setting his own quill down and swallowing as everyone turned to look at him. “He doesn’t sleep in the boy’s dorms, he doesn’t talk to anyone, he’s moody, I’ve seen him going into the Forbidden Forest more than once, and well…”

“What?” Luna asked.

“I’ve heard things about him from Ron,” Dean said. “They’re not exactly good and-.”

“You know Ron and Harry had a falling out,” Ginny interrupted, her lips twisted with annoyance. Luna wondered if she should interrupt. If it was even her place to interrupt. It was hardly the first time Ginny and Dean had argued, but they didn’t mean she enjoyed hearing it. “You can’t trust what Ron’s saying right now.”

“Yeah, except maybe he’s right,” Dean answered, meeting her eyes with equal annoyance. “How do you know Ron was the one who was wrong?”

“He was the one that was wrong,” Ginny said.

“But how do you know?” Dean insisted.

“He tried to set me up with Harry knowing he was with Malfoy,” Ginny snapped. “And when that didn’t work, he told the whole school that Malfoy was a werewolf just to spite them. I wouldn’t exactly call that upstanding behavior.”

“It wasn’t like we didn’t deserve to know-,” Dean started.

“Hey, guys,” Neville said, appearing suddenly at the edge of their table. Dean snapped his mouth shut even as Ginny continued to glare at him.

“Hello,” Luna answered, smiling up at him. She must have been convincing since Neville relaxed, sliding into the seat next to her.

“I have to finish this,” Ginny said, standing abruptly. She picked her textbook and parchment up, wrapping it up in her arms as she stomped away.

“I should go after her,” Dean sighed, taking the time to pack up before he followed.

“Did I do something?” Neville asked, and Luna resisted the urge to sigh. She was more than tired of Ginny and Dean’s arguing, of listening to Ginny complain but not do anything about it. She was tired of watching Ginny make out with him in front of her when it was clear she didn’t love him. When Luna did.

“It wasn’t you,” Blaise answered, twirling his quill once as he looked over at her.

“Oh,” Neville said, furrowing his brow, and Blaise turned to him, the left side of his lip lifting.

“You’ve finished the herbology essay, right,” Blaise asked, pointing down at the parchment in front of him. “Could you help me with mine. I’m having trouble with this one part.” Which Luna knew was a blatant lie. Blaise wasn’t having trouble; he was just deliberately not doing it, but then, if that was the way he chose to talk to Neville, then she wasn’t about to rat him out.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Neville answered, and Luna didn’t miss the blush that started at the base of his neck.

“I’ll help you with your potions,” Blaise said, the right side of his mouth rising to meet the left. 

* * *

Draco woke up like he usually did, his arms tight around Harry’s shoulders, Harry’s head resting on his collarbone—naked on a forest floor. He tensed, opening his eyes and looking down as Harry shifted against him. Harry still had his clothes on, but then Harry usually did when they woke up like this. Even after sex, Harry had just never liked sleeping naked. And honestly, feeling the scrape of leaves against himself, Draco couldn’t exactly blame him.

He lifted his head to look around them. They weren’t in the clearing anymore. They weren’t usually when he woke up these days. He could tell they were deeper into the woods, the light filtering past the tree canopy. He wondered where exactly they were, how they’d ended up there, if he’d tried to hurt Harry.

Harry shifted against him again, sighing against his skin, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from tensing. From feeling the tickle of Harry’s hair against his throat, his breath across his chest, the smell of him, the feel. He tightened his arms around Harry, relishing in how he relaxed in his arms; he missed him like a second heartbeat.

“I love you, Harry,” Draco muttered, pressing his face into Harry’s hair.

“Draco,” Harry exhaled, his hands wrapping around Draco’s shoulders and clutching as if he was afraid he was about to jump up and run. “Don’t.”

“But-.”

“Just…” he interrupted, and Draco could feel Harry clench his eyes closed against his chest. “If this is your way of leaving then just don’t bother.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco answered, his arms tightening even more. He wondered if Harry could even breath anymore, though he wasn’t complaining, he wasn’t pushing him away, and he supposed that was as much encouragement as he was going to get.

“I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t love you,” he said, and Harry shifted, tilting his head so they were looking at each other, his expression quizzical, guarded, and Draco knew he’d have to do a lot better. But he couldn’t keep pulling away, not for himself, not for Harry. It was tearing them both apart. “I was scared,” Draco shook his head, forcing himself to hold Harry’s eyes. “I was scared of hurting you. Of being a werewolf. I still am.”

“Draco….” Harry started, his hands tightening on Draco’s shouldered. He bit his lip, his eyelashes fluttering uncertainly. “I don’t want… I mean… you don’t-,” he flushed bright red as he set his jaw, looking up at Draco. “It’s just that you should never have to feel scared around me. I’ll take care of you.”

“I…” Draco trailed off, staring down at Harry, because he wasn’t sure Harry had ever comforted someone just because. He wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to, and Harry was looking at him like he was everything, and he couldn’t help remembering back when Harry had told him the truth about being raped, when Harry had turned to him and told Draco exactly that.

He bent his head, pressing his lips to Harry’s softly, his arms about as tight as they could get, and he hoped Harry could feel how much everything he had just said meant to him.

“You’re everything to me,” he muttered when he pulled away, and the way Harry’s eyes widened, shining up at him as he leaned up, pressing his lips to Draco’s was enough to know he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	7. And They Know They Didn't Used to Be Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finishes up his transformation while Lucius and Severus prepare for the inevitable ministry attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm soo sorry for the prolonged absence! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, Likes, and continuing to read, and I hope you enjoy the last few chapters!

Harry had his back to him, sitting on the forest floor with the half eaten plate of food balanced across his lap. They’d already been out in the woods for two days, and he hadn’t said anything to Draco since they’d kissed. Since Harry had kissed him, and Draco had held him, and they had just laid there instead of talking.

And now it was as if neither of them knew how to start again. It should have been easy. Draco _knew _Harry loved him. He knew Harry knew Draco loved him. He shouldn’t have had such a hard time opening his mouth when he looked at Harry. But when he turned to Harry, and Harry was looking back at him, green eyes wide and expectant, all he could feel was shame.

It was so much easier to confess when he was holding Harry, breathing in his scent, and aching with every part of himself. Now that he no longer missed him quite as bad, he’d lost his nerve, no matter how much Harry’s disappointed look hurt.

“One more night,” Harry said, and if Draco didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was talking to his lunch.

“What?” he asked.

“One more night of the full moon and then we’ll be out of the forest,” Harry answered, still not bothering to turn around.

“Oh,” he said, shivering as a breeze blew through the trees. He was only dressed in a thin shirt and trousers. There was no point in getting dressed in full robes just to rip out of them when he changed that night. Besides, it was just him and Harry here, and Harry had seen him naked before. Would hopefully see him naked again. “Right.”

“Right,” Harry answered, and Draco really didn’t know what to say to that. It was as if they were acting out some play that he hadn’t been given the lines to—that he still couldn’t afford to mess up. He’d never felt so scared of messing up. His parents had always been right behind him to pick up the pieces, to talk to the right people and get him out of trouble. Even with Voldemort, he’d known there was nothing he could have done to make the situation better or worse besides stay out of sight. But here now, he didn’t _want _to lose Harry, and he was only just beginning to realize how real a possibility that was.

“I love you,” he said, and Harry’s shoulders tightened as if he’d said the wrong thing again.

“You can’t keep saying that and expecting it to fix everything,” Harry answered.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, and Harry stood abruptly, the half-eaten chicken and treacle tart falling to the forest floor in his hurry. His green eyes flashed, angry and hurt and impatient as he glared at Draco. He looked so beautiful, alive and vibrant and beautiful, as if he didn’t need Draco anymore.

“I don’t _want _you to say anything, Draco,” Harry answered. “I just… I just want-,” he blinked hard, lowering his eyes, and it was only then that Draco realized how close to crying he was—had been for who knew how long.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he said, and he had thought it had been obvious. So obvious after what he’d said two nights ago but it must not have been if the way Harry jerked his head up in shock was anything to go by.

“What?”

“You’re my mate, Harry,” he said, and he didn’t have any idea how the words came out so smoothly, but he could almost feel the werewolf inside of him purring at the acknowledgement. He could feel how right it was. Lupin had been right from the beginning, and Draco had known all along. He’d been scared—was still scared. But he couldn’t afford to be anymore, not when Harry was looking at him with an expression somewhere between wonder and anger and shock. “There _is_ no one else.”

“You’ve said that before,” Harry sat down hard, exhaling as if Draco had just punched him. “I didn’t think you meant it.”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” Draco asked, and he tried not to sound annoyed, but he must not have succeeded if the way Harry glared up at him was anything to go by.

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been avoiding me lately. You’ve been acting like-.”

“I told you I was scared,” Draco interrupted. As if Harry didn’t know how much that cost him to admit. How much he wished he could flick a switch and no longer have to worry about hurting anyone else. “I told you-.”

“Yes,” Harry snapped. “You said you were _still _scared. You were saying goodbye.”

“No,” Draco answered, and Harry’s behavior from the past couple days suddenly made blinding sense. He had thought Draco’s confession had been his way of saying goodbye, when in fact, the opposite had been true. The signs had all been there, Draco just hadn’t been paying enough attention to Harry to notice.

* * *

Lucius set down the latest letter he’d received. It had been two days since Severus had asked him for help, and Lucius had delivered. Lucius always delivered. There was no way to stop the plan Scrimgeour had already set into motion, but there was a way to disrupt it, to ensure it didn’t work, and Lucius had made sure that no matter what Scrimgeour did, his plan wouldn’t work.

His engagement right still sat on the edge of Severus’ desk; they’d both been ignoring it as if ignoring a problem between them had ever made it better. And even now, Severus had no idea what he was supposed to do with the idea that Lucius had proposed to him because he’d really just wanted to marry him. The idea seemed so foreign. Purebloods didn’t get married because they wanted to. Lucius had already married someone he didn’t love, and now he was sitting in Severus’ office saying everything Severus had grown up knowing was true—wasn’t.

“That’s twenty of the Wizengamot we have on our side,” Lucius said, raising one hand to run through his hair. It was falling loose around his shoulders, a few strands tangling between his shoulder blades, and Severus was surprised he’d even let it get so messy.

“I’m surprised so many have agreed to side with us,” Severus answered, and Lucius turned his gaze on him. His expression was harder to read then it had been for a long time, sharp and calculating, and Severus didn’t know if Lucius was frustrated or satisfied with his progress.

“It’s not even half,” he said. Frustrated then. “If a trial is called now, the verdict could still come out against you.”

“I think you’re underestimating how many people in the Ministry dislike Scrimgeour.”

“They don’t have to like him to hate you,” Lucius answered, wrapping his hand around his cane as he stood. He turned his back on Severus, his silver hair shimmering down his back. “I should send a few more letters, see if I can’t get-.”

“Lucius…” Severus interrupted, his mouth opening before he even knew what he was going to say, and Lucius froze, his words cutting off. The silence hung between them for a long minute; Severus didn’t know if Lucius wanted him to speak or not, didn’t know if he really just wanted to be gone or not.

“If you want to give me the ring back, I won’t blame you,” Lucius said finally. His voice was low, careful, no emotion, and Severus didn’t know he had enough of a heart left to feel as it as it plummeted to his feet.

“You want your ring back?” he asked, and he was surprised at how steady his own voice was. As if he really didn’t care one way or another what Lucius did with his ring. As if he didn’t care whether Lucius wanted to marry him or not. As if he hadn’t been agonizing over the idea since Lucius had proposed.

“No!” Lucius snapped, turning so fast his hair was a silver smudge in the air behind him, flying and tangling over his left shoulder as he glared at Severus. “I don’t want it back! I want you to _want_ it, and not because you think you _should_ because you think you owe me something.”

“I do.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Lucius answered, his hand tightening on his cane, and he was already stepping closer, his hand reaching toward Severus’ desk, toward the ring resting on the edge, and Severus realized almost too late that Lucius was going to snatch it back. He jerked forward, fumbling over his own desk and making as much a fool or himself as he ever did with Lily. His hand caught on the ring, and he almost dropped it before he snatched it, clasping it in his hands and clutching it to his chest. He looked up, staring up into Lucius’ wide grey eyes and wondering if he looked more or less ridiculous than he felt.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean, I do owe you,” Lucius opened his mouth to respond but Severus talked over him. “But I meant that I do want it. I always wanted it.”

Lucius stared at him for a long minute, his eyes wide and his mouth half open as if he would argue before he suddenly lunged across the space between them. Lucius was everywhere, Lucius’ legs against him, Lucius’s hands cupping his, Lucius fitting the ring onto finger, Lucius’ lips against his, Lucius’ fingers working his way down the buttons of his robes, Lucius’ mouth under his chin, Lucius’ tongue brushing along his pulse point, Lucius’ voice raw in a way he’d never heard before.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Lucius asked.

“I don’t know,” Severus answered. “In hindsight, it seems we should work on our communication.” And Lucius chuckled against his throat.

“But you’ll marry me, won’t you?” Lucius asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

“And you actually mean it this time?”

“I would have married you before,” Severus said, and Lucius paused, pulling his head away to look down at him, his silver hair falling over one shoulder. Severus couldn’t resist reaching out, running his hand through it, feeling the soft strands tangle along his fingers. 

“But you wouldn’t have been happy,” Lucius answered.

“It’s in the past,” Severus told him. Lucius stared at him for a minute longer before he nodded, his eyes softening. He bent his neck, leaning down to kiss Severus hard on the mouth, his tongue easing its way into his mouth as if it belonged there. As if it had an inherent right to be there.

Severus tightening his grip in Lucius’ hair, opening his mouth and feeling the way the fingers of Lucius’ right hand lingered along their ring.

* * *

Blaise didn’t understand what Luna saw in Ginny anymore. Sure, she was pretty but it was about the twentieth time she’d complained about her boyfriend to them, and he was beginning to wonder if she was just pretending to be stupid or if she really was just this dense.

“I just wish he would think about my feelings for once,” Ginny finished, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed as if she’d just made the most valid point on all of history. Blaise shook his head, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut as he continued to write his Transfiguration Essay.

Neville was sitting next to him, his knee resting lightly against Blaise’s, and his whole body was radiated warm. As if someone had left him out in the sun too long—maybe thinking he was one of the plants he loved so much. Unlike Blaise, he was actually focused on his work, biting his lip as he scratched something out before continuing to write. Ginny was across from Neville, her homework strewn across the table as if pretending she was going to do it when they all knew she wouldn’t. Luna was next to her, the fingers of her right hand tight around her quill as she stared down at her parchment for a long minute.

Blaise didn’t even know why they still bothered to all head down to the library together. Between Ginny and Dean’s fighting—or if he wasn’t there—Ginny complaining about Dean, and Blaise trying to flirt with Neville—who remained blissfully unaware, they never actually got anything done. Well, Neville did, but that was aside from the point. All that actually happened was that Blaise had the urge to stick his wand in Ginny’s eye almost every day.

“If he makes you so mad, why don’t you just break up with him?” Luna asked, and even Neville looked up at her. It wasn’t that Luna couldn’t be unusually honest when she wanted to be, saying exactly what you least expected, when you least expected, right when you needed it the most, it was just the way she said it—who she said it to. Blaise had never heard her sound so—annoyed.

“But-,” Ginny blinked, momentary taken off guard. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then you should just talk to him,” Luna answered, already rolling her parchment up and stuffing it into her bag. Ginny watched her as she stood, her quill still tight between her fingers.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m done,” Luna said, walking away, and it wasn’t unusual for Luna to leave when she was done with her homework, but the way she’d left so abruptly had been telling enough that Blaise knew the real reason she’d left.

“Did I say something?” Ginny asked, turning to face Neville and him. Neville immediately ducked his head back to look at his essay, and Blaise kicked him under the table. Neville just scribbled faster along his essay.

“You’re such an idiot,” Blaise told her.

“What?” she answered.

“An oblivious idiot.”

“You know what,” she said. “I’m leaving too.” She didn’t even bother to put her stuff in her bag, simply scooping into her arms as she marched away from them. Again, he wondered if she really didn’t know or if she just didn’t _want _to know.

“That’s so annoying,” he muttered.

“Why does it bother you so much?” Neville asked, and when he turned his head to look, Neville’s eyes were curious and bright on his face.

Blaise really didn’t know what it was about Neville that was so appealing to him. He was honest—not exactly a trait he would always have said was attractive. He was innocent—well, maybe that was the wrong word, but he looked at the world so different than Blaise did. He was brave—and one day he’d die because of it. And he had a light to him—something that shone in everything he did, whether he failed or succeed or loved as much as his herbology, he did it with everything he was. And Blaise liked those things about Neville more than he cared to admit.

“Doesn’t unrequited love bother you?” Blaise answered, and Neville frowned, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows. Blaise dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, forcing himself to keep them still.

“I guess,” he said slowly, his eyes locked on Blaise’s face. “But how do you know it’s unrequited?”

“Sometimes, you can just tell,” Blaise answered, and Neville frowned as he turned back to his homework. 

* * *

“Harry, no,” Draco said again, and Harry just stared at him. “I was trying to tell you I wasn’t going to leave—that I could never leave you.”

“Then why have you been acting like you want to?” he asked, and Draco exhaled in what could only be frustration. 

“I told you,” Draco said, his eyes gleaming with that annoyed air Harry knew too well. If Draco was going to be angry at him, he could at least yell instead of patronizing him. “I’m scared of being a werewolf.”

“And that’s my fault,” Harry snapped, and Draco bit his lip.

“I never said that-.”

“But that’s what you think,” Harry interrupted. “It’s why you won’t look at me.”

“No,” Draco answered, his voice sharp now, and Harry couldn’t help the surge of triumph that surged through him at getting a reaction from Draco. Any reaction. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not-.”

“You are,” he interrupted. “I’ve been avoiding you because I’m scared of hurting you. Did you even listen to a word I said? Do you even know how many times I’ve hurt you? How badly I could hurt you if I don’t keep myself under control?”

“I trust you,” Harry answered, and it didn’t occur to him until Draco’s glare intensified that it wasn’t the right thing to say.

“You shouldn’t. I could kill you on accident, Harry.”

“And don’t you think that should be my choice?” he asked.

“To die?” Draco snapped. “That doesn’t even-.”

“To decide if you’re worth dying for!” he interrupted, and Draco blinked at him as if the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “Haven’t you thought that just maybe I should get to decide what I want with my life, not you?” he turned his face away, already feeling his face burning at the words, at what he was thinking. “I- you keep talking about how I’m your…. I’m your mate. How there’s no one else for you, but I don’t think you’ve considered the idea that I- that it goes the other way- I mean, that I- that there’s no one else for me either.”

The silence was so long Harry wondered if Draco had just walked away. He couldn’t bring himself to look up from the ground to check, and he flinched when he felt Draco’s fingers slide across his cheek, soft and affectionate before moving to lift his chin. It was harder to meet his eyes then it should have been—then it had ever been before.

“I’m sorry,” Draco told him, and he bit his lip to stop himself from saying something really stupid or needy or-

“Really?” he said anyway, and Draco skimmed his fingers down his neck in answer, cupping his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Rationally, he knew it hadn’t been that long since they’d last kissed, but it had felt like too long. Especially since Draco had kissed him like this, sweet and easy, tongue and lips pressing against his. Draco’s body leaning against him, into him. He didn’t know how they did it, but somehow, they ended up laying across the ground, Draco looking up at him with leaves in his hair, his fingers skimming along Harry’s body.

Neither of them was wearing robes, just a thin layer of T-shirt and jeans, and it would be so easy to keep going, to reach inside Draco’s pants, to have Draco touch him, but Harry wasn’t sure he _wanted _to. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sex. He did—with Draco—at certain times—when he felt like it.

He hesitated, resting his body against Draco, his forehead pressing into Draco’s sternum, and he could feel fingers carding through his hair. He could feel Draco’s length pressing against him, could feel the lust and tension coiling through Draco under him, but he wasn’t even half-hard. Right then all he wanted to do was be held and feel like he mattered to Draco in a way that he didn’t think sex would achieve.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” Draco muttered, his hand sliding through Harry’s hair, moving to rest against the back of his neck.

“You want to though,” he answered.

“But you don’t,” Draco said.

“I just…” he pressed his forehead harder against Draco, wishing he wasn’t so- “I do want you.”

“You don’t always have to want sex, Harry,” Draco answered, and Harry could feel his lips against his hair, his arms twisting around his back, his warmth wrapping around his body, and it felt so good. Familiar and good and comforting.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked.

“No,” Draco answered, his voice firm, confident, and the way he said the word made Harry relax against him, his own hands fisting themselves in Draco’s shirt as he relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next update should be next week. <3


	8. Happiness Disrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Severus make up, only to get a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little like I'm on repeat but sorry again for taking so long to update. This chapter is a little short, but it felt right to end it here. I haven't yet decided whether there will be one or two more chapters. I'm thinking one, but it'll be a pretty long one. It'll probably be posted in about two weeks.

They’re robes were laying across the floor, half sitting in Severus’ chair, Lucius’ shirt half unbuttoned, Severus’ trousers open, and Lucius had no idea how they’d even gotten there. He could feel Severus’ hand in his hair, pulling hard enough that it was starting to hurt. Lucius wondered if he was actually aware that he was doing it or not.

Lucius sprawled between Severus’ knees, lowering his head and ignoring the way Severus’ grip tightened in his hair as he nuzzled against Severus’ pants. They were both already hard, and Lucius knew they should have drawn this out, slow and passionate like they were really making love, but neither of them were good at that.

He twisted his finger under the waistband of Severus’ pants, yanking down just enough so Severus’ cock was exposed to the air and stared. It had been too long since they’d done this. Before Severus, Lucius hadn’t really gone down on other people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but there had been something about kneeling down at someone else’s feet, their cock in his mouth like he was only there for their pleasure.

He ran his tongue along the underside of Severus’ cock, watching the way Severus bit his lip, his stomach muscles tightening. Somehow, it had never felt demeaning when he’d done this for Severus. He pressed his tongue against the underside of the head, wrapping his mouth and sucking gently. He listened as Severus groaned over him. It had only ever felt reverent.

Wrapping his hand around Severus’ base, he worked more into his mouth. He could feel the head resting just at the back of his tongue, enough that he wasn’t choking while still making it good for Severus. He didn’t like deepthroating, and Severus had never complained when he’d refused. Severus didn’t sound like he was about to complain now as he muttered something above him, his hand clenching against the arm of the chair. Lucius ran his tongue along the underside of his cock as he sucked again.

Lucius squeezed the base of Severus cock, shifting it in his mouth for a better angle against his tongue, and suddenly the hand in his hair tightened, pulling hard enough that Severus’ cock was falling out of his mouth, slapping against Severus’ stomach. He glared up at Severus, who’s eyes were dark, pupils blown, and it took Lucius a second too long to realize exactly what was about to happen.

Severus moved faster than he’d been expecting him to, lunging at Lucius in a way that had the chair toppling over with a bang, their legs wrapped together, Lucius shirt slipping down his shoulder, and then Severus settling on top of him with a muffled gasp. And Lucius groaned as Severus lined their hips together, his cock still out.

“What are you-?” he started, but Severus had already lowered his head, his dirty hair falling around his face and sweat clinging to his lips. He lapped into Lucius mouth, biting at his tongue with fire and lust and love. Lucius arched up into him, his hands clutching at Severus’ shoulders hard enough that it had to hurt.

When Severus broke away from him, they were both panting, Severus’ breath fanning across his face as he mouthed at Lucius’ cheek, his jaw, his collarbone. His other hand lowered down, fumbling with Lucius’ trousers and pants and taking entirely too long to get them off. He lifted his hips, shoving them down and turning his head away when Severus almost hit him in the eye with his forehead. Then they were pressing themselves together again. Severus was completely naked while Lucius still had on his white shirt. He moved his hands to the buttons, but Severus grabbed his wrists, pressing them against the floor.

“Leave it,” he said, and Lucius had never been a blusher. He’d never been someone who would stutter and color when he was complimented or talked dirty to, but the way Severus said it, his voice low and demanding had Lucius shuddering before he could stop himself, his face heating up and his eyes cast toward the ceiling.

Severus lowered himself down, wrapping his mouth around the very end of Lucius’ cock as his fingers circled around his balls. Lucius swallowed, feeling his body tense as Severus dipped his fingers lower, brushing against his entrance. Severus didn’t stop; he just swallowed, lowering himself down further on Lucius cock as he pressed one finger into Lucius. He already had lube on his fingers, and it was embarrassing enough that Lucius didn’t know when he’d summoned it, he didn’t need the way he tensed further around Severus, his hands tightening around his shoulder as if he really thought Severus was going to hurt him.

“Lucius,” Severus said, and it took Lucius a beat too long to realize he’d stopped, his head raising. “Have you never bottomed before?”

“I’ve never…” he cleared his throat, his eyes skirting Severus’. “I’ve never been with anyone who…” he trailed off, but Severus seemed to understand what he was getting at.

“You want to now?” Severus asked. Like Lucius was some child he needed to monitor for his own good.

“I would have stopped you if I didn’t,” he answered, and Severus’s lips curved, his eyes softening as he bent to kiss Lucius again, his fingers returning to his anus and pushing two in. Lucius flinched at the way it burned, the uncomfortable pressure and pain in his arse, but Severus was already stroking his cock with his other hand, his tongue in his mouth, and Lucius was relaxing before he knew what he was doing.

Severus scissored his fingers apart before pressing them deeper, brushing against what must have been Lucius’ prostate if the way pleasure shot up his spine was anything to go by. Severus let his hand push down against his cock, up, down, jerking him off even as he added another finger, the lube sliding along his arse in way that should have been disgusting. Lucius groaned into Severus’ mouth, pressing his mouth up as Severus touched his prostate again.

“Now,” Lucius said, digging his fingers into Severus’ shoulders hard enough that he hoped he got the message, because he tired of the foreplay. Severus hesitated, his tongue stilling in Lucius mouth before pulling away, his hand leaving Lucius’ cock to take hold of his own, guiding it to Lucius’ entrance. Then he was sliding in, more lube appearing at the flick of his wand to ease the way.

Lucius pressed the back of his head against the floor, feeling the length of his body pressing against Severus’, and it hurt, and it felt so erotically _good_. He almost didn’t notice when Severus stopped, his hips flush against Lucius’ arse, and Lucius wondered if he would take offense to being slapped or if it would ruin the mood entirely. He shifted his legs, purposely digging his fingernails into Severus’ bare shoulder, and Severus responded just like Lucius knew he would.

He grabbed Lucius’ right ankle, wrenching his leg up and over his shoulder, shifting the angle so his cock was brushing against Lucius’ prostate as he pulled out and slammed back in. Lucius cried out, grinding his head against the floor, his eyes pressing themselves closed as Severus thrust into him again, hard and rough and so good.

Severus’ reached up, his hips keeping their pace, his cock slamming into Lucius’ prostate, and locked his hand into Lucius’ hair, tugging his head to the side so he could press his face into Lucius’ neck, his teeth scrapping across the skin. Lucius bit his lip, feeling the drag of Severus’ cock, the pull of his hand, the bite of his teeth. It was so much and not enough, and he wondered when he’d started talking because that definitely wasn’t Severus babbling like an idiot.

“Severus…” he groaned, his voice high pitched and gasping as Severus thrust into him. “Please, please. I need… please.” Severus seemed to understand what he was saying, because he was wrapping his hand around Lucius’ cock, stroking him in time to his thrusts, and it took an embarrassingly short amount of time before Lucius was cuming across his own stomach and shirt.

He felt Severus tense above him before relaxing, letting his leg drop down and laying to the side, his arm draping across Lucius’ stomach as if he couldn’t not be touching him. Lucius raised his hand, brushing his fingers along the Malfoy ring that sat on Severus’ finger.

* * *

Sometimes, Neville wished he understood Blaise better. There were times when he was so distant, talking to the wall with his hands folded in his lap. Then there were other times where he would laugh, leaning his chin on his elbow as his eyes crinkled. Times like now. Times that Neville wished he understood better.

“I’m not going to win,” he said, and Blaise just laughed, his smiling stretching across his face. He looked so content, relaxed as if he were ready to fall into bed with Neville right then. Not that Neville was thinking of bed when he was around Blaise.

“You don’t know that,” Blaise answered.

“I never win, and you’re doing really well,” Neville said, and Blaise’s fingers swiped across his lips as he lowered his hand. Neville wondered if the way his face suddenly felt hot meant he was blushing. He ducked his dead, studying the board in front of him. “King to E3”

“I’m not doing that well,” Blaise said. “Knight to B3.”

“You are actually,” Neville said. “Rook to G4.”

“Bishop to G4, takes Rook. Check,” Blaise answered immediately, leaning forward so far that Neville was almost concerned his nose would touch the chess pieces.

“You’re going to win anyway,” Neville repeated. “Can’t we do something else?”

“Like what?” Blaise asked, rocking back again.

“Like…” He bit his lip, and Blaise’s eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second before drifting back up again. “My grandma sent me a new book about different flowers and their medicinal properties.” The corner of Blaise’s lip twitched, but Neville just ducked down. He’d tucked the book in his bag before he’d left his room, wanting to share everything new he’d learned. Though when he’d sat down, Blaise had been smiling and pulling the wizard’s chess between them, and Neville had forgotten. He laid the book onto the table, flipping to one of the pages he’d marked. The purple flower stood stark against the white parchment of the page.

“This is a shrivelfig. The book talks a lot about how the roots being aggressive allow the plant to live pretty much anywhere. It can survive even snow. It’s pretty amazing.” He leaned forward, tracing his finger on the image. “The leaves can also be brewed in…” he trailed off as he looked up, Blaise’s eyes shining. “What?”

“I-,” Blaise broke off, turning his face away and biting his lip. “It’s nothing.”

And again, Neville couldn’t help wishing he understood Blaise better, because there had to be a reason for him to shift back into being so closed off when only a minute ago he’d been so open. One thing Neville had learned about Blaise was that he hardly did anything without a good reason; Neville just wished he knew what the reason was. 

“Oh,” he answered, and Blaise flicked his eyes up, looking up at Neville through his eyelashes in a way that should have seemed coy. But then Blaise had never managed to pull off coy.

“I just…” Blaise trailed off, his tongue darting out to lick across his bottom lip, and Neville felt the heat break out across his cheekbones that meant he was blushing. “I wish people saw me, is all,” Blaise finished, his eyes darting left and right as they studied Neville’s face.

“I do,” Neville answered, and then back tracked when Blaise blinked at him. “I mean, I understand—I mean, I want that too—but not like for me… I mean that I want to see you.” And Blaise was still blinking at him like he’d spoken a foreign language which was entirely possible. “Not that other people shouldn’t, I just want to—”

“I think I get it,” Blaise interrupted, his right side of his lip twisting up in a smirk. Then he was leaning forward, his hand closing around Neville’s fingers, his breath hot against his lips, and Neville hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d wanted Blaise to kiss him.

* * *

Severus was just buttoning up his robes when the Floo lit up. Lucius lounged against Severus’ chair, his legs casually spread like he didn’t have his pureblood reputation to maintain as he looked across the room at Severus with half-lidded eyes. He was only wearing trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, his robes lost somewhere in the room. And for half an hour, Severus had allowed himself to really believe everything would work out.

Then the Floo flared bright green, the wards alerting him immediately of an intruder, and Scrimgeour stepped through followed by three Aurors that Severus didn’t recognize. Lucius immediately sat up, springing from Severus’ chair. His hands flew up the buttons of his shirt, his lips tightening as he sneered. It shouldn’t have been so comforting.

“Severus Snape,” Scrimgeour said, gesturing to one of the Aurors. “You’ll have to some with us.”

“On what grounds?” Lucius asked, stepping forward. His hair was a disaster, falling in an unorganized tangle around his left shoulder, and Severus almost didn’t blame Scrimgeour for the way his lip curled. Except, he obviously didn’t know how Lucius tended to get what he wanted.

“I don’t see how that’s your concern, Malfoy,” Scrimgeour answered.

“He’s my fiancé,” Lucius said, and Scrimgeour’s lip curled even further as he looked down at the ring on Severus’ finger. He wondered how much of his strategy relied on their failed relationship. “I have a right to know.”

“He has neglected his duties as Headmaster to an unacceptable degree and will be subject to a formal hearing at the Wizengamot,” Scrimgeour said, gesturing again to the Auror. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Malfoy.” The Auror stepped forward, and Severus held his want out easily, letting Lucius frown across the room at him as they led him through the Floo.

* * *

Harry’s hand was still wrapped around Draco’s when they walked out of the Forbidden Forest. It felt a little like Draco hadn’t let go of him since they’d talked, but then, Harry couldn’t blame him when he didn’t want to let go either. He paused at the edge of the forest, Draco’s fingers tightening. It had been so long since Draco looked happy. Since Harry felt happy. He felt the edge of his mouth curl up as he stepped onto his toes, leaning toward—

“Harry!” Granger’s voice cut through the air between them. “Draco!” Harry flinched, Draco’s hand rubbing a smooth line down his back. Granger’s brown hair flew behind her as she ran up to them, her eyes wide. “Snape’s been arrested. He’ll be held on trial in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next update with be up in about two weeks. I'm determined.


	9. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say two weeks... I meant three. *sigh*
> 
> Warning: reference to physical/emotional/sexual abuse in this chapter

“No further questions,” Rodrick Jones said. He stepped away from the witness stand, smirking blatantly across the open space. He was every bit as horrible as Lucius had warned, his persecution style aimed to humiliate.

“This is ridiculous,” Harry muttered, watching Amelia Woods stand and approach the stand. She’d been expensive, concise, and Lucius had promised she was as good as they could get, but Harry couldn’t stop himself from wishing she was better. That she would just tear Jones’ case apart instead of asking careful question after careful question. He just wanted this to be over.

“Mr. Weasley,” Woods asked. “You’re saying you feared for your life.”

“I am,” Ron Weasley answered. His lips were pressed tight together like he was trying to keep himself from smiling, and Harry wondered how much he was enjoying being the center of attention for once. “I mean, I did fear for my life. Draco Malfoy almost killed me, and no one did anything about it.”

“I see,” Wood said, clipping the words just enough to make it clear how ludicrous she found his statement. “And did you, Mr. Weasley, ever approach Severus Snape about your concern during his time as Headmaster or before?”

“Well, it wasn’t like he would bloody listen if I did say something.”

“I simple yes or no will do,” Woods answered, and Harry bit his lip to hide his smile of satisfaction as Weasley’s face went bright red.

“No, I didn’t.”

“And did you ever confide your concerns in Dumbledore when he was alive?”

“I didn’t know Malfoy was—”

“I simple yes or no, Mr. Weasley,” the judge interrupted.

“…No,” Weasley muttered, sinking down into his seat sullenly.

“Did you talk to any adult about your fear?”

“Well, no, but—"

“And you are, of course, aware that there are no rules against Werewolves attending Hogwarts?” Woods asked.

“….Yes.”

“So, unless Headmaster Snape was informed of your discomfort, how could he be expected to act on it?”

“I…” Weasley flicked his eyes around, sinking even lower in his chair. “I think it should have been obvious.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Woods answered, turning away from him. “No further questions.”

“She’s doing well,” Lucius said, his knuckles white against his walking stick.

“She made a good case against Severus just letting me run around during the full moon earlier too,” Draco answered. He sat very still in the seat beside Harry, his hands folded carefully in his lap like he was afraid to move them and draw too much attention to himself.

Harry shifted in his seat, brushing his hand along Draco’s wrist. Woods _was _doing a good job. He just hoped it made a difference to the Wizengamet. There was still a lot of prejudice against Werewolves, and that didn’t go away just because Weasley was stupid or Lucius bribed them.

“What is McGonagall doing here?” Harry asked.

“What?” Draco answered, leaning forward to watch as McGonagall climbed the witness stand. “The persecution called McGonagall. Why? They already had that spy Justin Adarins practically lying on the stand.”

“They probably want someone that can’t be accused of being biased,” Lucius said, tapping his walking stick against the ground. “McGonagall has no reason to lie for the ministry while Adarins does.”

“You’re a teacher a Hogwarts?” Jones asked. “The head of Gryffindor house to be precise?”

“I am,” McGonagall answered.

“The house Harry Potter was sorted into?”

“It is.”

“And is it true that Harry Potter stayed at Hogwarts over the summer months?”

“After his fourth year, yes, he did.”

“He was in your care during that time?” Jones asked, and McGonagall pressed her lips together.

“No.”

“No?” Jones asked. He leaned against the witness stand, tilting his head toward McGonagall with a sly knowing smile on his face that made a shiver go up Harry’s spine. What exactly did Jones think he knew? “His head of house didn’t supervise him while he stayed at Hogwarts?” Jones asked.

“Severus Snape supervised Potter during the summer months,” McGonagall answered, leaning all the way back in her seat like she was trying to get away from Jones.

“And why was that?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore felt Professor Snape had a connection with Potter,” McGonagall answered. “Besides, I was otherwise engaged for much of the time.”

“And did he? Have a connection with the boy.”

“Potter did seem to be much more comfortable around Professor Snape than anyone else,” McGonagall said, and Jones hummed. Harry thought it was supposed to be a sound of affirmation, but it sounded more like a sound of scorn.

“Why?”

“I was told Potter’s home situation was…” she flicked her eyes up, and Harry met her look evenly. He hated how he was being used to make Severus look guilty, but if her telling the truth was the only way to get him out of this mess, then he would make sure she did. “Potter was being abused at home,” McGonagall said, talking over the hushed whispers that fell over the room. “Severus Snape was the one who discovered what was happening to him and took him away.”

“So,” Jones said, tapping a finger against the wood of the stand. “It’s fair to say that Potter was in a delicate state of mind when he met Severus Snape?”

“I…” McGonagall hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“And why not?”

“Potter was never… He was never timid toward me.”

“Toward you,” Jones said. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“He was never timid _toward you_.” Jones clarified. “As if he didn’t like you? As if, perhaps, someone told him not to? Someone like Severus Snape, perhaps?”

“Are you suggesting Severus Snape deliberately tried to make Potter hostile toward anyone who wasn’t him?” McGonagall asked, and at least she sounded appalled, even if she had walked herself right into his trap.

“Since you brought the question up, do you think it possible?”

“I—Of course not,” McGonagall answered. “Professor Snape loves Mr. Potter. He would never—”

“Speaking of Severus Snape’s love for Potter. How often would you say Potter stayed in Headmaster Snape’s private rooms during the night,” Jones asked. Severus stiffed in his chair, his head bowed in the middle of the room, and Harry wished Severus could just leave. This whole thing was ridiculous.

“I… couldn’t give a precise number.”

“But it is policy for students to be in their dorms at night? Not teacher’s private rooms.”

“It is….” McGonagall said, and she sounded warier now, her answer trailing off at the end, as if she wasn’t sure she should say anything.

“And what do you suppose happened in Snape’s private rooms at night?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, if Snape had tried to take advantage of Potter, would Potter have been in the right state of mind to deny him?’

“How is any of this relevant?” Woods asked, standing with her hands flat against the table. “This trial is about Severus Snape’s ability to be Headmaster at Hogwarts, not whether or not he mistreated Harry Potter.”

“And yet, if he mistreated one of his students while he was Headmaster, doesn’t that prove he was abusing his position?” Jones answered.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said, gesturing for Jones to continue.

“This is bad,” Lucius said.

* * *

“The problem is that we don’t have a solid enough defense for the accusation of Headmaster Snape’s relationship with Mr. Potter,” Woods said. Severus kept his head down, his hands clasped together on top of the table. This whole thing was so exhausting. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts, wrapped around Lucius. He wanted to be getting married. He wanted to not regret to way he’d let Harry stay so close to him for so many years. Harry had needed him, and that shouldn’t have made him look guilty, but few things about his life had been fair.

“What can we do?” Lucius asked. Severus shifted his leg under the table, his thigh pressing up against Lucius’. Lucius looked a mess, bags under his eyes and his hair thrown up haphazardly with strands falling loose. He was trying so hard, and Severus really didn’t know if it mattered.

“We could play the angle of your relationship with Headmaster Snape,” Woods said, tapping her finger against her forearm as she paced. “But there’s also the fact that the two of you have been having trouble until recently. That could also open the door for them to accuse Headmaster Snape of being distracted because of your relationship.”

“What about Harry and me?” Draco asked. He leaned his elbows onto the table, his chin tilted up towards where Woods was standing across the room. “Couldn’t you put me on the stand to talk about us?”

“I hesitate to put you on the stand, Mr. Malfoy,” Woods answered. “Right now we have a good handle of their accusations regarding you, but if you go up and answer one question wrong, there may be no salvaging the case.”

“So, put me on,” Harry said, and Severus closed his eyes, holding his sigh in check. Harry should never have been put in the position where he felt he needed to protect Severus, especially when he was already struggling.

“That could work…” Woods said, the swoosh of her robes sounding against the stone floor. “But you need to be sure Mr. Potter. I’m going to have to ask you questions you might not want to answer.”

“I’m sure,” Harry answered.

* * *

“Harry,” Granger’s voice called from behind them. Draco’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist, and Harry resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. What exactly did Draco think he was going to do?

“Granger,” Harry answered, half-turning toward her. They’d returned to Hogwarts for the night, the trial restarting in the morning. Lucius had disappeared with a hand pressed to each other their shoulders, white blonde hair falling out of his ponytail and around his face in wisps.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Granger said, stepping closer. “I really didn’t know that Ron was planning to testify against Headmaster Snape. I…” she hesitated, her lips parting as she sighed. “Ron is wrong about this.”

“What do you want?” Harry asked.

“I’ve been researching wizarding law,” she answered, twisting her hands in her robes. “I thought I could find something to help, and I—Harry, is it really true you’re going to be testifying tomorrow?”

“Where did you hear that?” Draco asked, his hand tightening on Harry’s wrist.

“Blaise told Neville.” She shrugged.

“What about it?” Harry answered, twisting his wrist so Draco had to let go, and then sliding his hand down to twine his fingers through Draco’s.

“They’re going to ask you a lot of questions,” Granger said, her eyes lighting up like he’d just given her a fascinating book or something. “And I’ve been studying. I thought I could help you prepare.”

“Why?” Harry asked

“We used to be friends,” Granger answered, and she sounded so sincere, shifting her feet across the stone floor as if offering to share her research with Harry was really going to change his mind about her. “And I lost that without even realizing.”

“This won’t make up for that,” Harry said.

“I know,” Granger said. “But maybe it’s a start?” And he almost said no; he almost threw her offer in her face, but he _did _need the help, and it wasn’t him who would be hurt if they never talked against after this. Besides, he was so tired of being angry all the time.

“Alright,” Harry said.

“But—” Draco started. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand; maybe it was time to start moving on.

“If you want to try,” Harry said. “But I won’t just forgive you. I don’t have it in me.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

* * *

“I never thought I’d see the day Lucius Malfoy asked me for help,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, and Lucius tightened his fingers around the head of his cane, refusing to move from his spot in the alley. “What was it you called me during the first war?” Shacklebot asked. “A blood traitor?” Lucius smiled grimly; he was actually pretty sure he’d used stronger language.

“I’m sure you understand the necessity to let by-gones be by-gones, Shacklebolt,” Lucius answered.

“It’s Head Auror Shacklebolt now,” Shacklebolt said, and Lucius could tell exactly what he was doing. He wanted Lucius to bow and scrape to him. He knew exactly the position Lucius was in, and he wanted Lucius to beg him for help.

“Of course,” Lucius bowed his head slightly. He’d spend half his life pretending to respect idiots in positions of power. If Shacklebolt thought it hurt him to play the political game, he was more than wrong. “Head Auror.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Shacklebolt asked, not looked near as satisfied as he had a minute ago.

“I hear you’re very popular within the ministry,” Lucius said. “If something were to happen to the current Minister, you might stand a chance at getting elected yourself, don’t you think? I could even help.”

“Are you trying to bribe me for information?” Shacklebolt answered, his robes swishing across the ground as he paced closer.

“I’m saying that we could help each other,” Lucius said. “You work with Scrimgeour—”

“No one works with him,” Shacklebolt interrupted. “He does everything by himself.”

“All the more reason to want him gone,” Lucius answered, and Shacklebolt narrowed his eyes. “You must know something,” Lucius said. “Anything that can give me a leg up on him.” Shacklebolt pursed his lips, tilting his head as he considered Lucius.

* * *

Harry settled himself into the seat behind the witness stand, planting his feet flat against the ground and wrapping his hands around the edge of the chair were no one but the judge could see. Draco was in the same spot as yesterday, his silver-grey eyes reflecting the court room lights back at Harry with Lucius sitting pencil straight beside him.

“What was your relationship with your Aunt and Uncle like?” Woods asked, and even though her voice was gentle, Harry still had to stop himself from jumping. He was suddenly glad for Granger’s help the night before. He’d almost left when she’d asked him about his Aunt and Uncle, but he’d known he’d have to talk about it. And if they hadn’t already talked about what he would say, Granger analyzing the situating and Draco’s grip tight around his fingers, he would have froze.

“Abusive,” Harry said.

“Can you give examples?” Woods asked, and again he was glad they’d picked the examples beforehand, because no, he didn’t want to tell her or the courtroom anything about the Durleys. They didn’t have any right to hear.

“There was a cupboard under the stairs they would lock me in for days without food if they were angry,” Harry said, and he was tell that the wood of the witness stand had been enchanted to stop it from rotting. He could feel the shimmer of a charm lingering around surface. “They would hit me if I didn’t do what they said or if I did something they said not to.” There were so many other things he could have said. _They didn’t care what Dudley did to me. They made me work till my hands bled. They—_

“And did they ever touch you inappropriately?” Woods asked, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

“Yes,” he said, tightening his grip on the edge of his chair.

“Mr. Potter, I know this is difficult,” Woods answered. “But can you describe—”

“Uncle Vernon—” Harry took a deep breathe, hating the way it shook against his throat. “It was right before my second year at Hogwarts. Severus was…” he trailed off. Severus had his head bowed over, his shoulders bent as he sat in the center of the room, and Harry wished he could tell him that he didn’t blame Severus for what had happened. “Severus had been staying with us, but he’d left, and I – My Uncle was angry…” Harry shivered, forcing his hands to stay against the wood of the chair. He’d once told Draco that the worst part of being raped had been the feeling that he was nothing—that he really didn’t matter to anyone. He knew that wasn’t true now, but he could still feel that feeling pressing against the back of his mind, and he didn’t know if that would ever really go away.

“What did your Uncle do, Mr. Potter?” Woods asked, and the swoosh of her robes against the floor was the only sound in the court room.

“He—” he cleared his throat. “He raped me.”

“And did Headmaster Snape ever touch you inappropriately?” Woods asked.

“No.”

“Did he ever manipulate you?”

“No.”

“Would you have known if he was manipulating you?” Woods asked, and Harry jerked his head to meet her gaze. Her eyes glittered with triumphant certainty that Harry didn’t understand. She wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t think she already knew his answer, but how did she know his answer?

“Yes,” Harry answered, and Woods raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, and how could you be so sure? Was there perhaps someone else manipulating you, which gave you the ability to see when you were being manipulated?”

“Objection,” Rodrick Jones said, standing so abruptly his chair skidded backward. “She’d leading the witness.”

“Mr. Potter?” the judge prompted, ignoring Jones.

“There was someone....” Harry said. He hesitated, but Woods’ lips curled, and she seemed sure. “Albus Dumbledore,” he said, ignoring the collective gasp that went around the room. “He knew I was being abused and did nothing.” And again, there were other things he could say. _He knew I would have to die to defeat Voldemort and waited to tell me. He knew Voldemort was coming back and didn’t do anything. _

“But Severus Snape did?” Woods asked, and she brushed her hand along the wood of the witness stand, the magic thrumming against her own.

“When he found out what was happening, he did everything he could to take me away from them,” Harry answered.

“So, you don’t believe Headmaster Snape helped you only out of some nefarious purpose?” Woods asked. “He wasn’t manipulating you or using you in your opinion.”

“He wasn’t,” Harry answered, and his fingers were beginning to hurt from gripping his chair. “Severus was there for me when no one else was. I don’t think he’s perfect, but he’s… He’s done nothing to deserve this treatment.”

“Yes, I agree.” Woods smiled, her triumph cold and calculating in her eyes, and it was suddenly easy to see how she’d once been a Slytherin. She turned to the judge and bowed. “No more questions.”

“It’s the prosecution’s witness,” the judge said, waving his hand over the courtroom. Jones was still standing, shuffling his hands through the papers on his desk with his face pale.

“Right,” he said, twisting his hands behind his back. “I have a few questions about your relationship with Headmaster Snape, Mr. Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. There will be one more chapter after this. I've already started it, so it'll be posted soon.


	10. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You mean she actually finished this mess???? I know, I'm as surprised as you are.

Harry fidgeted with his hands in his lap, watching as they brought Severus back in to announce the verdict. Court had ended yesterday on a sour note, Jones doing everything in his power to twist Harry’s words. There had been a lot of talk about his abuse, about how he wouldn’t have understood if Severus was taking advantage, about how he was lying about Dumbledore to protect Severus.

When they’d let out, Woods hadn’t said much besides that they’d done a good job, and the tomorrow would tell. Then both she and Lucius had disappeared. Harry hadn’t seen them again until he and Draco had walked into the court room this morning, waiting for the Wizengamot to come in and announce their decision.

Scrimgeour stood up, his hands flat against the podium in front of him. He glared across the room, and Harry turned his head to see Lucius’ lips curve up, his hand relaxed against the head of his walking stick. Draco reached over, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s trembling hand and squeezing.

“We’ve found Severus Snape not guilty of all charges,” Scrimgeour said, curling his fingers around the edge of his podium. “He will remain Headmaster of Hogwarts with no consequences and our apologizes.”

Severus’ head shot up, his eyes wide, and Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand turned borderline painful as he shot from his seat. Lucius just continued to smirk, his fingers caressing the hidden compartment of his walking stick, right where he hid his wand, and Harry wasn’t a fool. He knew it wasn’t any kind of luck that had gotten them out of this.

* * *

“Next time the Minister should think twice about hiding dangerous artifacts from the Department of Mysteries,” Lucius said, lounging back against the cushions of his chair. Draco laughed, his hand warm where it wrapped around Harry’s. They sat on the small couch across from Lucius and Severus, the fire crackling a few feet away in Severus’ fireplace, and Draco could feel the contentment seeping through the room. “He’ll step down after this,” Lucius said. “Well, if he doesn’t want me to make a scandal out of him.”

“I did wonder how you managed to pull off a miracle,” Severus said, bringing his teacup up to his mouth. He took a long drink, a faint smile playing along his lips, and Draco let himself relax against Harry, Harry’s hair ticking his cheek. Severus had acted like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been afraid of what would happen to him, but Draco had felt the way he’d gripped his shoulder. He’d heard the way Severus had told Lucius they were getting married as soon as possible. He’d noticed the way Severus had pressed Harry against him like he’d thought he’d never be able to again. 

“How’d you find something like that out?” Draco asked.

“Do stop slouching, Draco,” Lucius said, and Draco sat up, keeping his left arm touching Harry’s. “Kingsley Shacklebolt told me, and I promised him my support in his bid for Minister.”

“Shacklebolt?” Severus asked. “I suppose there are worse choices.” Draco traced a finger over the back of Harry’s knuckles, and Harry let out a breath, laying his head on Draco’s shoulder. His body was completely relaxed, his fingers latched onto Draco’s. It was getting late, and they’d had a long day, it was probably about time they went to bed. Besides, Lucius and Severus might not have been touching, but Draco could tell they wanted to be alone.

“We should go to bed,” Draco said, pulling away just enough that Harry had to sit up. “We do have class tomorrow.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Severus said, setting his cup and saucer on the table beside him.

“Goodnight, Severus, Lucius,” Harry said. He didn’t let go of Draco’s hand as he stood, pulling him out the door and toward his room. Draco let Harry drag him along, feeling the tingling itch under his skin. It had been a long time since they’d just _been _together. They’d finally managed to talk, but then Severus’ trial had happened, and Draco just wanted to be able to kiss Harry without worrying about anything else.

“Do you think they’ll really do it?” Harry asked, pulling open the door to their room.

“Do what?” Draco answered, his eyes flicking down to the way Harry flung his robe to the ground, already reaching for the hem of his shirt.

“Get married,” Harry said, the pale edge of his stomach entirely too distracting in the dim light.

“I think we all deserve a little happiness,” Draco answered. He reached out, stroking his hand along Harry’s hip. His pinky grazed against his skin, and Harry shivered, his glasses flashing as he turned.

“It seems impossible.”

“It isn’t,” Draco said. He linked his fingers through Harry’s, pulling up on the hem of his shirt until Harry was dropping it to the ground and reaching for Draco’s robes, his hands fumbling.

Draco brushed his thumb against Harry’s cheekbone as his robes fell, tilting Harry’s head back up. He looked nervous, his green eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, and it wasn’t until then that Draco realized how long it had been since they’d done this.

“We don’t have—”

“I want….” Harry trailed off, biting his tongue like the words burned him, and Draco’s heart throbbed. He wondered if there would ever be a time when Harry wouldn’t be afraid of his desire. He hoped so.

Draco pulled his shirt off, stepping around Harry to lie on the bed. He smirked, legs spread and lights shining across his skin in a way he knew was attractive. Harry’s mouth twitched. It was as much of a thank you as he was ever going to get.

Harry didn’t bother distributing his weight when he settled on top of him, his chest pressing against Draco’s as he leaned down. His breath was hot, his lips just short of chapped, and Draco had to hold himself back. He really wanted to spring up and claim Harry without any more foreplay.

Then Harry was kissing him, his palm planted next to Draco’s head and Harry’s hips against his and Harry’s tongue against his lips and Harry’s stomach gliding down his. Draco moaned, sliding his hands down Harry’s shoulder’s, along his back, clenching on his—Harry tensed pulling his mouth away.

He was panted, pressed against Draco with his mouth swollen and his eyes averted, and it took a long minute for Draco to realize what he’d done. Draco pulled his hands away from Harry arse, laying his arms flat against the bed.

“I’m sorry. I—” Harry started.

“You shouldn’t apologize,” Draco interrupted, and Harry’s eyes snapped to him. “Just tell me what you want.”

“I don’t want you to touch me there,” Harry answered. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“Then, I won’t,” Draco said, and Harry spent a long minute staring at him, the hand resting against Draco’s head shifting against the covers.

“Alright,” he said finally. He leaned down, slotting his lips easily against Draco’s.

* * *

2 Months Later

Harry stood by the oddly smelling, purple punch while people danced and chattered around him. Lucius and Severus were still making their way around the room thanking and greeting everyone who’d made it to their bonding and marriage ceremony.

Lucius flicked his long hair behind his shoulder, the smile he flashed everyone something between gloating and possessive. Severus rolled his eyes, somehow looking bored in the dashing black ensemble that Lucius had picked out for him. Harry still didn’t know how Lucius had bribed him into wearing it or into brushing, washing, and styling his hair.

Draco had left for the bathroom thirty minutes ago and gotten caught by some woman with bright blonde hair who gestured louder than she spoke. He’d cast a look at Harry to save him, but Harry wasn’t going over there unless there was mortal danger.

He’d spotted Longbottom and Blaise dancing together earlier, standing entirely too close to still be pretending they weren’t together. Blaise had admitted to Draco almost immediately that he was dating Longbottom. Draco hadn’t understood why, but Draco still didn’t understand how Blaise had been in love with him.

Weasley—the female—had actually apologized to him, spouting some nonsense about Dean and breaking up and Luna helping her see, and Harry couldn’t understand why she thought he would care, but if the way Lovegood had smiled at her from across the room was indication Luna did. 

“You could have saved me,” Draco muttered, tangling his fingers with Harry’s.

“You made it out alive,” Harry answered.

“You were too busy people watching,” Draco huffed, tilting his chin up as if that would really make Harry care.

“I was thinking.”

“You can think and dance,” Draco answered. He stepped toward the dance floor, the music shifting into an upbeat jive that would’ve made Harry want to throw something if he’d been anywhere else. Been with anyone else.

“Not while this is playing I can’t,” he said, letting Draco drag him onto the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH, the ending left a little to be desired for a piece that left such an impact on me as a writer and a person, but I really didn't want to leave her unfinished. Thanks so much to everyone who has read, left kudos and comments. You are all wonderful, and thank you for sticking with me for so long!


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